Crisis
by Buffelyn
Summary: Post-AU-TMR...New chapter!:) 19: Seventeen boxes show up on the doorstep, and Evy takes a peek into her husband's past. And we knew our lovers couldn't stay mad at each other for long--discussions of children and houses follow... much fun:)
1. As If Eight Years Hasn't Been Enough

Alternate TMR. Rick arrives in London during a storm to pick up the pieces of a life he didn't know he had. All roads lead back to Egypt, and the tragedy he came to prevent...

I've discovered that I really enjoy writing stuff in shades of tragedy. Don't worry, I still like happy endings;) This is also semi-experimental in the fact that it's written in present tense, which is not what you usually see. I just thought it fit the tone of the story well with the first person viewpoints. If I ever skip anything that seems major, assume it progressed similarly to TMR. 

Rated PG-13 for mild language, sexuality, violence, etc. Everything, in other words:)~

You guys know how I adore reviews:):):) 

I do not own the characters of the Mummiverse (that would be Mr. Sommers) nor do I own the songs at the beginning of the chapters, which are really just there for fun. :)~Buff

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i have a demon for a wife he delights in your pretty face and he hates my life takes notes on how to provoke past grief makes my teeth decay with the last of my self belief feed all day from underneath like a thief i'm left whipped barely able to speak i see nothing but constant supply i can read every look in your eye i live with a lie maybe our love will never die or maybe it's the last time i make you cry

--"addicted" faithless

It's always a shock to pass so abruptly from the warmth of the Cairo sun to the chill of London's clouds. Having lived in both climates I'm well accustomed to the habits of each, but something about that switch from warm to cold, from light to dark, has always unsettled me. I could never abandon London, not completely, but coming back always has an edge of sorrow to it, no matter what the circumstance. 

The clouds stir above us as I help the driver heave the baggage out of the back of the taxi. The night is cloudy and dark as London winters often are. A storm hovers on the horizon, growling at the city, occasionally showering it with a light drizzle, but it hasn't broken yet. It simply waits for the right moment to unleash it's fury on those foolish enough to risk the anger of the tempest. 

We'd dropped off Jonathan first, ostensibly because he was closer to the airport, but really because he didn't want to pay the fare. If I'd been in a better mood I might have argued with him about it, but tonight I'm in no mood to pick a fight. I'm really in no mood to do anything at all but chuck my entire life out the window, settle down in front of the fire, and get lost in a book. Preferably one that doesn't wake the dead. 

"Mum? What can I carry?"

I look down at the luggage I've piled on the ground and place a large chest into my son's waiting arms. "Put it on the kitchen table."

"Sure, Mum."

Alex plucks the keys from my fingers and skips up the steps to our flat, tipping a little from the weight of the chest. I allow myself a small smile as I look after him, then gather as many bags as I can into my own arms and follow him up. 

By then Alex has gotten the front door open and disappeared into the kitchen. I deposit the bags in the foyer and breathe in the smell of my familiar little home. Small but cozy, cluttered but inviting, I fell in love with the apartment the first time I saw it. In eight years, we haven't ever thought of moving away from it. 

Thunder rolls in the distance, increasing the feeling of foreboding in the pit of my stomach. I realize with a sigh that I have to go back out into the cold to retrieve the rest of our bags. 

"Alex?" I call. "Would you get the rest of our things?"

The little blond boy streaks out of the kitchen, stopping just short of running into me. "Mum, it's raining."

"I know."

Alex puts on his best pout and tries again. "So why do _I_ have to do it?"

"Because mommy doesn't want to get wet, and you have to have a bath anyway. Go, please."

My son rolls his eyes and moves past me out the front door. I click it shut behind him and rest my forehead against the cool wood. Every day he looks more and more like him. Every day I notice little mannerisms that weren't there before, a raised eyebrow here, a laugh there, sometimes a stare so intense it seems the world depends on not blinking. 

And every day, I feel a little more lost. 

I've seen far worse storms. This one seems pretty tame comparatively, though as the skies open up above me I suddenly wish I'd remembered my umbrella. The shadowy streets blur together as I walk deeper and deeper into their labyrinth. I was lost as soon as I set foot outside the hotel, but I hadn't even bothered to look for a taxi. Though a part of me wants to get there as fast as possible, a larger part is desperate to avoid it. Not even the rain can wash away the horrible lump that is choking the back of my throat. 

Time, that's all I need. As if eight years hasn't been enough. 

I look up at the street sign as I turn the corner, fighting the urge to turn and run the other direction when I see what it reads. My eyes move to the whitewashed apartment building across the street. In the bright light of the streetlamp, I see a little blond boy dash down the main staircase. I swallow the lump in my throat and call out, "Hey! Hey, excuse me!"

The boy picks up a suitcase from the bottom step, his blue eyes watching my every move. "What do you want?"

"Is this the Carmen Villa?"

"Yeah." 

"You wouldn't happen to know..." By now I've reached the other side of the street and have a clearer view of the kid. "If..."

"What?"

"If Evelyn Carnahan lives here?"

"What do you want with my mum?"

"She's your mother?" My stomach drops as he realized who the little boy must be. She had married that guy, after all. They were probably quite happy with a million more children and fabulous careers. Evelyn didn't need me any more than she had eight years ago...

But she does need me, now. Even if she doesn't know it. I wasn't just going to walk away this time. 

"Who are you?" the boy asks. He still hasn't moved from the bottom step.

"I need to see your mom, is she here?"

"Yeah."

"Is your...is your dad here?"

"No."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "Good. I mean, I...well. Yeah. Do you know where your mom is?"

Without a word the boy picks up the last suitcase and heads up the stairs. I follow him, not knowing what else to do. I want to offer to help him with the luggage, but I sense he wouldn't want or accept the help. As we climb the staircase I try to push away thoughts of who Evelyn must be now, what she must have. This could have been my son, this could have been my home, this could have been my life. It doesn't matter if eight years have passed or eighty, it doesn't make dwelling on the past any less painful. 

The boy opens the door and walks into the darkened entryway, making no protest when I follow him in. He drops the suitcases and yells, "Mum! Someone's here to see you!"

Surreal doesn't begin to explain the feeling that overcomes me when Evelyn appears. Lightning flashes outside the window as our eyes lock, illuminating the room for a brief moment before we are plunged into darkness again. Her son flicks on the light switch, and she still hasn't moved, her eyebrows set in slight confusion, her eyes wide with unanswered questions. She is still Evelyn. Her hair is different now, tamed, darker. She looks more mature, maybe, but still with that mischievous glint in her eye that is still Evelyn. Still Evy. 

"Hey, beautiful," I whisper, and she crumples to the floor. 

~*~*~*~

And there we have part one of eight. Want more?


	2. Even If It Be Mortal Peril

Answers to all questions will come eventually. Except for exactly what happened all those years ago, that answer is meant to be obscure in this story, but will be explored further in a prequel. He he. Thanks for the comments, I appreciate them all, and keep 'em up:)

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i want you to remember everything you said every driven word like a hammer held to my head the chemicals between us the walls that lie between us lying in this bed the chemicals displace there is no lonelier state than lying in this bed we are the hollow men we are the naked ones i never meant you harm i never meant you wrong and i'd like to thank all of my lovers lovers lovers lovers lovers....

--"chemicals between us" bush

When I open my eyes I behold a seemingly empty room. In fact, I'm on the floor. It takes me a moment to recall exactly why, and my thoughts move slowly as I connect the dots of the previous few minutes. Just as my brain works out the final piece of the puzzle, a pair of feet come into view, then a second. "Mum?" I hear, as Alex bends down into my line of sight. "Mum, are you all right?" 

The other pair of feet, clad in shiny black shoes dotted with rainwater, take a step backward as Alex helps me stand. My eyes travel up, up, up, until his face comes into view again. His hair is still a bit longer than I would have liked, but even in the weak light it dances with streaks of sun. His skin is still as bronzed, his eyes still as blue, his face still as handsome. Exactly the same, and yet his gaze is somehow hardened as he looks back at me. Closed off, distant. Never the same. 

We all stand there for a moment more, Alex looking anxiously from the stranger to me. "Are you all right, mum?" he repeats, tugging on the sleeve of my sweater. 

"No," I say. "Alex, go to your room."

"But mum--"

"Now, Alex." I need to get Alex out of here. I can deal with _him_, then I can deal with Alex. I can't do both at once, it's too much. 

Alex turns and leaves us alone. "Well," I begin. "Rick O'Connell. What a..." I struggle for a word, not knowing what to say. "...surprise."

He speaks only two words, and already my world shatters. "Hi, Evy." I think his voice is full of regret, maybe longing. Or maybe I'm imagining it. 

I find my voice again, surprised to find that my eyes are fighting back tears. "What are you doing here?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"You might be surprised."

"Probably." He smiles, but it is forced. I can tell. "Seen many mummies lately?"

I can't find the strength to acknowledge his weak attempt at humor. It is understandable, however, that I don't answer at all, for the windows of the foyer choose that moment to shatter. They first crack with the impact of bullets, then explode into a million pieces as several red-turbaned men burst through them. They advance on us, and Rick immediately steps in front of me. I move from his cover, loath to let him protect me from anything, even if it be mortal peril. I can feel him tense behind me, ready for a fight. 

"Who the hell are you?" I ask, but the men don't answer, instead looking back to the foyer as a tall, scarlet-clad black man climbs through the splintered glass.

"Miss Carnahan," he growls, approaching us. "I believe you know what I am here for."

I cross the room to a rack of swords, drawing one out at random and brandishing it as menacingly as I can. "Evelyn, what are you doing?" Rick hisses.

"Get out of my home," I say, ignoring Rick's question. 

"I'm afraid I cannot," replies the man. "Give the chest to me and no one will be hurt."

I look to Rick, trying not to show my desperation. He gives me a look right back, one of those infuriating ones like he just _knows_ me. He knows I hate that. Or maybe he's forgotten. 

Rick joins me and chooses his own weapon from the rack. "I hope these aren't just for decoration," he whispers. 

"Fine." The black man removes his cape with a flourish and draws out his own scimitar. "Then I will kill you and take it anyway."

He motions to his cohorts, who fly forward with a rallying cry and start slashing wildly with their swords. I hold my opponent off easier than I think Rick is expecting, as he is having a bit of trouble wielding the heavy blade himself. 

"Been taking lessons?" he asks me, fighting off a blow from one of the red-turbans.

"No!" I cry, a little confused myself. How is this so familiar?... My foe knocks the sword from my hands, but I duck from the impending strikes easily and deliver a kick to the man's abdomen. I follow this by clocking him in the face, which effectively sends him to the floor in howling pain. "That I learned from you," I say quietly, before several more of the red-turbans appear from out of the smashed windowpanes. 

As Rick steps in front of me once again, I see several of them filter through various doorways into the rest of the apartment. "What are they looking for?" Rick asks. 

"The Bracelet of Anubis," I answer. "Oh God, Alex!"

It hits me too fast to think about what I am doing, I simply run headlong into the kitchen before Rick can stop me. I can still hear him fighting the red-turbaned men off as I skid to a halt on the linoleum floor. In front of me Alex fights valiantly to hold onto the chest as one of the turbans tugs at it from the other side. Finally Alex lets go of the chest and tumbles backwards to the floor. Before I can go to him, something hits the side of my head, and I feel myself fading to blackness once more. 

As the tall black turban-man flies at me with the scimitar, I have no time to react other than to simply raise my own sword. They clang in time with the thunder outside, the lightning shedding light on the twisted face of my opponent and giving him a devilish appearance. Out of the corner of my eye I see someone come out of the kitchen, the first carrying a golden chest, the second...Evelyn!

My opponent uses my moment of distraction to slash me across the chest, knocking me to the ground and sending the sword flying out of my hands. He growls again, grabs his cape, and follows the rest of the red-turbans through the foyer and out the window. 

Tears sting my eyes as I stand, the pain in my chest clouding my vision. The little boy, Alex, comes out of the kitchen. He looks shaken, but he has this look in his eye. A determined look, like his mother. Like he's trying to be tough. 

"Where's my mum?" he asks. "Where did they take her?" 

The words come surprisingly easily, though they aren't particularly eloquent. "We're gonna get her back. It's okay, I promise."

He notices my injury, but doesn't seem fazed by it. "You're bleeding."

I look down at the wound, which I've somehow forgotten about, though it still hurts like hell. "Yeah."

Alex disappears back into the kitchen for a moment, then reappears holding what looks like a medical kit. He unrolls a big wad of gauze and practically throws it at me. Still wary. 

"Where's your family?" I ask. "We have to--"

"Mum is my family."

"Where's your dad? Your father?"

"I know who you are," he says, digging through the kit. 

"What?"

"Rick O'Connell. I've heard Uncle Jon say your name before."

"Really."

He gives me another one of those Evelyn looks. "You're the reason mum is sad all the time. You're the reason she cries." 

I can think of nothing to say to this, though my mind won't stop turning. Over and over again, every possible route, every possible scenario, it all comes back to one conclusion. 

I can think of nothing to say to my son. 

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	3. No Such Thing As Always

Thanks to... Marxbros, Nora, Kleopatra_gurl (hey, stop saying that!:), Mai Frasier (actually, I didn't get to see About a Boy, was it good?), Eviefan, Marcher, MBooker (I'd love to hear your own ideas about it, mine are fuzzy but taking shape:), Seletha (he wouldn't necessarily know right away, he's been away for eight years and a lot could have happened in that time), Allibabab (loved your reviews:), and Kylie ...

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it took me by surprise to see you standing there close enough to touch breathing the same air you asked me how i've been i guess that's when i smiled and said just fine oh but baby i was lying and as you walked away the echo of my words hurt just like a knife cut so deep it hurts i held back the tears held onto my pride and watched you go i wonder if you'll ever know 

--"what i really meant to say" cyndi thompson

They took him. They took my baby. I have never felt more helpless in my entire life. 

Rain always seems to add insult to injury. You're having a bad day, nothing has gone right, and on top of everything else it is raining outside. Tears flow out of my eyes and down my cheeks to match my rain-soaked hair, clothes, mood. I am slumped in the corner, holding my knees to my chest. I'm sure the look in my eye defies anyone to come near me, even Jonathan. 

So here I sit, cramped in a tiny plastic bus seat, suffering through my brother's driving and trying to ignore O'Connell's stare. He hasn't said anything to me directly, but I know he's waiting for me to start a conversation. What can I say? How've you been these last eight years? How's life? Ever think about me? Probably not. He's probably quite happy wherever he's been. He's probably married, successful. That, or he's wasted his life. Perhaps he needs money. Drunk it all away. Maybe he's just gotten out of prison.

These thoughts don't make me feel better, because I know they aren't true. 

"I know a man with a plane," Rick says, speaking to Ardeth. "In Cairo. He works for me, he'll get us to Karnak."

"And then what?" I ask, to the air. "What do we do when we get there?"

It takes a while for him to answer. "I don't know."

If the tears had slowed by then, they are started anew by his helplessness. Rick was supposed to fix things. He was supposed to save us. It strikes me as comical that this is my first thought. The time has long since passed when Rick could accomplish such a feat, and even then it brought us more trouble than either of us could have imagined. 

By now Jonathan has gotten us to the apartment building without killing us. "Let's be quick about this," says Rick as we unload from the bus. "We're leaving as soon as possible."

"Gee, really?" I ask before I can stop myself. "I thought we'd wait a few days, maybe see how things play out. Hey, I know, maybe they'll send a ransom note."

I see Ardeth and Jonathan give each other a look and they slink off as quietly as possible. Rick doesn't answer me right away, but I can see the veins in his neck tighten, he clenches his fists. "Let's not do this right now, okay, Evy? I don't want to fight."

I can't seem to stop eight years of pent up emotions from bursting forth. "Come on, Rick, let's talk it out. What went wrong? Was it me? Was it you? Let's have a discussion. A heart-to-heart. Where have you been living for eight years? Are you happy? Depressed? Any regrets?"

He unclenches his fists, fixes me with that stare of his. "You tell me."

Such simple words render me speechless, as if an iron band has closed around my throat. I can't tell him. What difference would it make, anyway? It wouldn't change anything. 

I turn slowly, place one foot in front of the other as I walk away from him, down the sidewalk, up the staircase. When I reach my door, I close it behind me. I know he didn't follow. 

Ardeth comes down the stairs. He approaches me slowly, as if he suspects I might shoot him for saying the wrong thing. "She's almost ready," he says. "Jonathan has called the airline." 

He leans against the car next to me, and we stand there in silence for several minutes. "You are injured," he says finally. "What happened?"

"The usual. Tall guy with a sword and a bad temper."

"I see. Are you all right?"

I try to turn my mind to the conversation rather than the throbbing pain in my chest. "It's not too serious."

He nods. "Good. Don't you need to pack anything?"

"My stuff's at the hotel."

"Oh. I thought you lived here."

"No."

"You and Evelyn are not...I mean, you are not married?"

"No. We haven't seen each other for almost nine years."

"It's just that...I thought the boy...I mean, I thought you were his..."

It almost strikes me as funny that Bey could get so flustered. "Yeah," I agree. "I think so too. But she won't say it."

"I was sure you two were going to get married."

"So was I."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure. I'll let you know when I figure it out."

"It is not my place. But...what are you doing here, then? You do not reside in London, I take it."

I sigh, knowing he'll think I'm crazy. "Sometimes you just have a feeling. Love. Karma. Fate. It fits in there somewhere."

He smiles. "My friend, there is a fine line between fate and coincidence."

"I'll keep that in mind." I reach up to brush some hair out of my face. Out of the corner of my eye I see Ardeth's smile fade. "What?"

His eyes narrow. "If I were to say to you, I am a stranger traveling from the East, seeking that which is lost..."

Words I haven't heard in twenty-five years come as naturally to my tongue as though I heard them yesterday. "Then I would reply to you that I am a stranger from the West and it is I who you seek...how did you--"

"You bear the sacred mark!" he cries, grabbing my wrist. "This mark means you are a protector of mankind, a Medjai."

For some reason I cannot bring myself to refute his declaration. My mind whirls with objections, excuses, explanations, but I can't think of one that is legit. After all that I have been through in the past week, why would it be so strange to add this to the list? 

Evelyn and Jonathan come down the stairs at that moment. Evelyn has changed out of her wet clothes, she's pulled her hair back. It amazes me that in the midst of all this, after discovering I have a son and having him taken from me almost in the same breath, I still notice that Evelyn is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. 

We load into Jonathan's ramshackle car, and somehow I end up sitting next to her. Jonathan starts the car and pulls into the street, and all the while the passengers are dead silent. "What's so important about this bracelet?" I ask, attempting to draw Evy out of her shell. If there's one thing she can talk about endlessly, it's Egypt. 

Evelyn takes a deep breath. "About six weeks ago I had a dream. I couldn't get it out of my head. So I dragged Jonathan and Alex to Egypt. I knew exactly where I was going, I knew every hallway, every lock...like I'd been there before. My visions led us to the Bracelet of Anubis."

"The Scorpion King."

She is surprised enough at my knowledge of the subject to finally meet my eye. "Yes. According to legend, he sold his soul to Anubis in exchange for the defeat of his enemies. He's supposedly entombed at the Oasis of Ahm Shere, and he awakens once every five thousand years."

"The Bracelet leads the bearer to the Oasis. It will show him each step of the journey," adds Ardeth. "That is why they need Alex."

"Let me guess," I say. "If someone doesn't kill this guy, he'll wipe out the world."

"How did you know?" 

"I didn't." I smile. "That's always the story."

Evelyn does not return it. "There's no such thing as always," she says, and tears her eyes away from mine no matter how hard I try to hold them. 

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The next chapter is MAJOR, I promise:) And really long. Really. Please review. It would make me ever so happy:)


	4. Unchecked by Uncertainties of Time or Pl...

Merci to my chapter 3 readers, Marcher, Eviefan, Seletha, Jester Fraser, Kat (you keep changing your name!:), KHBAJN, MBooker (I finally came up with a concrete plot for Rick's departure!:), Jennie, and Marxbros . . .

For those of you who were salivating for romance, here's the chapter for you ;) And I promise that eventually the entire eight-years-ago anguish will come fully to light. Ooh, flashbacks! :) That's always fun. Enjoy chapter four:) ~Buffster

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positioning my fingers on the shiny metal tab long and round like a tear then murmuring a murmur so inaudible that although i could feel her lips tremble against my ear she seemed far far away pinch it she said which i did lightly until she also said pull it which i also did gently parting the teeth one and a time down under and beneath the longest unzipping of my life

--"hey pretty drive by mix" poe

Rick has fallen asleep in the chair, his head at what looks like an uncomfortable angle. I have a sudden urge to search out a pillow for him, but I repress that particular impulse. Everyone else but Izzy is asleep, too. These last few days have certainly been exhausting, but I have barely slept. Least of all because of the oh-so-smooth ride. Rick said Izzy almost sold this plane a few years back for a dirigible, but upon pain of dismissal decided not to. I don't know how Rick ever got such a character working for him, but that was all he's said, past the fact that he runs a business out of Boston. I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from asking more. I want to know what kind of business it is, where he lives, what the hell he's been doing without me for eight years. I want to know everything about him. Just being around him again makes me want to run into his arms and pick up where we left off. Somehow, I think maybe he feels the same way, but there's still that little nagging feeling at the back of mind, the one that's been there for eight years. That little doubt...that he doesn't love me, that he doesn't want me, that I'm better off alone. It doesn't help that he doesn't seem to believe in my visions. He didn't say anything outright, but the look he gave me clearly said he doesn't place any stock in reincarnation. 

"Abu Simbel's coming up on your right, people," says Izzy, loudly, and the rest of our little party comes awake. We suffer through a rather rough landing (Izzy assures us everything is fine) and I'm the first one off the plane. I've been the one to find the sandcastles, every time, and by now I know what to look for. They're probably chaining him up somehow. Surrounded, where someone would see if he tried to run. Hopefully somewhere with shade, close to water. I shared these observations with Jonathan yesterday, and he said, "Once a mother, always a mother." For some reason this made me cry. 

We search and search for what seems like eternity. Nobody finds anything, and that horrible feeling that's settled into the pit of my stomach intensifies. What if he didn't leave us a clue? Where will we go next?

Rick calls my name and I rush over to where they are all standing. I haven't been able to meet his eyes since Alex was kidnapped. I know what he's going to say if I do. He's been quieter than I remember, but I can feel his eyes on me almost constantly. He knows, I'm sure of it. 

"What happened?" I ask, directing the question to Ardeth. 

"They aren't here yet," Rick answers.

"What do you mean they aren't here yet?"

"I mean, we got here ahead of them. They're over that ridge, you can see the caravan."

"How long will it take them to get here?"

Rick shrugs. "Two hours, maybe. They're in no hurry. Ardeth's found a cave just over there; we're going to push the plane in there and wait."

Evelyn's face screws up like she's going to cry, but before anyone can react she spins on her heel and runs pell-mell across the sand, disappearing behind the ruins. "Evy?" Jonathan calls, but I stop him from following her. 

"I'll get her," I say. He nods like he still doesn't quite trust me, but he lets me go. 

I know she won't heed my calls, so I don't even try. I don't run, either, but I have to go after her. She could get lost back there. It'll be better if we hide ourselves now, just in case something goes wrong. Just in case we need more time. 

I find her leaning against a wall some distance away, tucked into a little corner of darkness. "I know," she says, "I know. I just can't stand this waiting; I can't stand it. I love him so much, I just..."

"Don't worry, Evy. I'll get him back. I promise." I take her hand, kiss it. I half expect her to pull away again, but she stops fidgeting, clings to my hand. 

"_Our_ son," she whispers, finally meeting my eyes. "Our son."

She tries to take her hand back now, but I hang on to it. Something to focus on, anything besides the horrible feeling of betrayal that is welling up in my own heart. "Didn't you even try to find me?"

A tear trickles down her cheek. "I didn't think you wanted to know. Besides, what would you have done?"

"What I was going to do anyway." Another tear rolls down her cheek, and I wonder if she's realizing what fools we've been. I know I am. "Did you know..." I wipe away the tear with my thumb, and I can't seem to find words, no matter how simple they are. "...about...I mean, when I left, did you--"

"No. Not yet."

"Why didn't you come with me? I thought you had decided..."

"I tried, but I...I didn't think you wanted me to."

"How could you have thought that, Evy?"

"I got there and...you weren't there." Her tears come faster now, and she hides her face behind her free hand. "You weren't there and I thought the worst and...I thought you didn't want me."

I shake my head, though I know blaming anyone is not going to do any good. "I waited for you until the last second. I thought you...I thought you didn't want me."

Evelyn takes a deep breath, trying to regain a bit of her sanity. I know mine is quickly slipping away. She closes her eyes, leans a little closer. "I don't know, maybe I went to the wrong place or something, I...Oh, God. God, it can't have happened this way. It's not fair."

I'm not sure if my own tears are for her, or me, anymore. "I can't imagine what you had to go through. Alone. I'm so sorry."

"No, it's my fault too. We were both just stupid, stupid, and I--"

"No, we were just...yeah, stupid. Incredibly stupid."

This draws a laugh, at least, and she leans forward and hugs me. I didn't expect this, but it's certainly welcome. "I missed you," she says. "I missed you every day." Her words are muffled, but I hear them clearly. I've been waiting for words like these for eight years, and I can't stop the next ones from spilling out. 

"I love you." 

She hugs me tighter. "I love you, too. How come it took us so long to say this?"

"I always knew it."

"Always," she sighs. "Well, I suppose we can just tell people you've been in a coma for eight years." Then she laughs again, and no sound has ever sounded sweeter. 

I know she's waiting for me to kiss her, I can read the look in her eye like I can read all the others. I know this is some sort of bizarre dream, a fantasy of what could have been, what should have been, and I can't bring myself to end it. I know the moment I kiss her I'll wake up and have to return to my life, alone, heartbroken, for all eternity. There is no way that I'm holding Evelyn, my Evelyn, in my arms. I've tangled enough with the workings of fate to know that it doesn't often grant our wishes. 

"Why did you come back?" she whispers, so close that I can feel her lips brush against mine as they form the words. 

"I had a dream. You were dying, and it was my fault."

A smile tugs at the corner of her beautiful mouth despite my serious tone. "So you're a believer of visions after all? Do you think it's true what Ardeth says, about your tattoo? The princess' Medjai protector?" 

"We'll see."

The smile has disappeared. "I trust you. I know you'll protect me."

"Some job I've done so far."

"All I ask is that you love me. That's all I ever wanted."

Somehow I am able to banish all my doubts for the single moment it takes for my lips to find hers. For a few moments I still believe that this has to be a dream. No kiss can be this perfect; no kiss could mean so much as this one does. She slides her tongue into my mouth, timidly, then with more confidence as I respond with equal fervor. She seems to melt into me as I draw her closer, press her body against the warm stone of the temple wall. I am acutely conscious of the slightest progress of her hands as they roam, then move up to toy mischievously with the buttons of my shirt. 

Our mouths part for just a moment, and suddenly those eyes are staring into mine again. "Rick," she murmurs, and the sound of her voice shatters any doubts I might have still harbored. 

"Isn't this what got us into trouble in the first place?" I ask. 

"I don't regret it," she says. "I may have gone through hell, but I came back with Alex. I would never give him up." 

"We're going to get him back."

"I know."

"Promise me that next time we fight, we talk about it before either of us leaves the country, okay?"

"Deal," she says, and kisses me again. This time her movement is bolder, unchecked by uncertainties of time or place. I begin an exploration of my own, moving from her mouth down to her collarbone and along her neck, tasting the bitter contrast of the chain of her locket against the sweetness of her skin. It seems only yesterday that she sat there and told me about that locket, about the stories it held. I was no more to her than a stranger passing through, and still she shared her life with me. 

Words left unsaid, secrets left unshared, all because we were to blind to see the truth; too blind to see that we couldn't live without each other. Maybe fate does have some lessons for us, after all.

Evelyn moans my name again, and I hush her quickly with kisses. For all our abandon I still recognize the precariousness of our situation. Undoubtedly this is not the setting either of us would prefer, or the circumstance, but the moment is perfect. It wouldn't do to be ruined by a curious Ardeth or, worse, Jonathan, investigating where the hell we're off to. I'm not quite sure myself, but I wouldn't trade this perfect moment for anything. 

~*~*~*~

Come on, leave a review for poor ol' Buffelyn...please? :)


	5. So Too Can We Fall From Grace

Merci to all reviewers. I had all of you thanked by name but then my computer deleted it and I don't want to type it again, but I love you all!!! :) Chapter 4 was a personal favorite of mine so I'm so glad you guys liked it:) So I'm thinking I may just continue this story and not make a separate prequel. In any case, all questions will be answered. Eventually. I promise. ~Buff:):):)

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someone told me love cannot save us but how can that be when look what love gave us a world full of killing and blood-spilling that world never came and they say that a hero can save us i'm not going to stand here and wait i'll hold onto the wings of the eagles watch as they all fly away and now that the world isn't ending it's love that i'm sending to you it isn't the love of a hero and that's why i fear it won't do

--"hero" chad kroeger & josey scott

Our plan is so crazy I suspect it just may work. For such a ragtag band of adventurers we make a pretty good team. I am so often surprised at the people my life presents me with. I really shouldn't be, I suppose. What other people would I have expected? The father of my child, my brother, and our desert protector. The three people besides my son who have never meant more to me. 

The former one, however, I could never have dreamed. I met a man who was filthy, rude, an out-and-out scoundrel, and fell in love with a man who became everything in the space of a few weeks. But as quickly as we mortals can ascend to heaven, so too can we fall from grace, and in as short a time our lives fell apart. It is a strange feeling, for someone to mean so much to you and then suddenly be ripped away. All because of a stupid mistake, we traded our happiness for misery. It's even stranger to spend eight years away, and still know you can't be without them. I wonder if the reason I endured these years was that I knew he'd be back. 

Jonathan nudges me. "You're all sandy, Evy."

"What?" I look down at my clothes. Slightly rumpled, but none the worse for wear. "For God's sake, Jonathan, we're in a desert. A desert consists mainly of sand, if you hadn't noticed."

Jonathan nods and drops the subject, but there's a twinkle in his eye that tells me he'll bring it up again later. A bit of sand, so what? That's all he has to go on, I know. I was, after all, there. In possibly the strangest week I have lived through (with the exception of the week I feel in love with Rick; by now I suppose we are less shocked by such paranormal goings-on), what I have just done does not surprise me. Stranger things, I assure you, have happened.

I find Rick's face in the semi-darkness. His hand searches out mine and I cling to it. For eight years I would not have believed such a thing was possible. But Rick is holding my hand, and that simple act gives me strength enough. 

We hear voices outside, in Arabic, some English. After a few minutes, ancient Egyptian. A voice I didn't care to hear again. It sends chills down my spine though I cannot quite make out the words. 

Hours pass, and the little daylight that had dared infiltrate our little hiding place fades away. The foreign voices finally quiet, and finally Rick gives the signal. Jonathan darts out of the plane, off on his mission. He returns an interminable amount of time later, whispers a few hurried bits of information to the men, and we are off. 

Izzy starts the engine and the plane begins to move. Last-minute fears plague my senses and I grip Rick's hand tighter. He smiles reassuringly back at me, but pulls his hand from mine. He's focused on the job at hand. We all have a job. Ardeth is going provide cover fire, Izzy is piloting, Jonathan is the lookout, and Rick is the rescuer. I'm just supposed to sit here and pretend my life isn't ending before my eyes. 

As the plane picks up speed and bursts out of the cave, I hear voices cry out in shock, surprise. I look over as Rick and Ardeth leap out the cargo door and disappear into the darkness. I hear gunshots. Jonathan pushes me down to the floor as we hear them ping off the hull. We are still moving, and soon we will be forced to take off, with or without them. I am on the verge of hysteria. I think I hear my son's voice amidst the chaos. It has to be him, it has to be. Only Jonathan's arms hold me back from leaping out of the plane to find my family. Where are they? 

I hear Rick before I see him. "Go, go, go!" he shouts, and Izzy begins to pull up. Rick appears, tosses Alex ahead of him as they dive into the plane, followed closely by Ardeth. As we take off, I can still hear the gunshots reverberating off the thin metal walls that protect us. Jonathan tries to keep me on the floor, away from danger, but nothing can restrain me. Alex flies into my arms. We fall back onto the floor as the plane tilts, but I care for nothing but the fact that I am finally holding my son. 

As we yank the cargo door shut, I take a moment to catch my breath, then hold it nervously as the aircraft shudders and shakes its way into the sky. After a minute the gunshots fade and the only noises are the rhythmic churning of the plane's engine and Evelyn's sobbing. They look so complete together, so perfectly the portrait of a family, that I wonder where I will fit in. I wonder if I will ever be that close to my son, ever be able to hold onto him like that and never let go. I wonder if he will ever trust me. 

Though Evelyn continues to cry and cling to him, Alex turns his head and looks at me. His ankle still bears the manacle and chain that had been his prison, though other than that he appears okay. He stares at me for a moment, studying me. "Thank you," he says, though the sound is drowned out by the engine. Evelyn looks at me too, reaches a hand out to me. I take it, connected, still distant. She tugs on my hand until I move closer, then she wraps her free arm around me, and suddenly I am in the midst of a family. Jonathan joins the hug, and then somehow Bey is pulled in, too.

"Guys," comes a tiny voice from inside the crush. "Guys, I can't breathe."

We all back off, though Evelyn stays close to Alex. I keep hold of her hand, needing the link. "Are you okay?" she asks him. "Did they hurt you?"

"I'm fine, mum."

Evelyn looks on the verge of tears again. "We're going to go home now, and everything's going to be--"

"We have to go to Ahm Shere!" Alex cries, anxiety suddenly filling his tone. "We have to keep going!"

"Whatever for?"

"He told me that the bracelet is going to kill me unless I get inside the pyramid by the seventh day! That's tomorrow!"

I can't bear to look at Evelyn; I can tell from her grip on my hand what I would find in her eyes. "Alex," I say, trying to keep the fear from my own voice. "Where do we go next?"

"Follow the Blue Nile. It's the last step."

"Don't worry," I tell him. "We're going to get that Bracelet off you, and everything's going to be--"

"Fine," he finishes, fixing me with familiar blue eyes. "I know."

Evelyn enfolds Alex in another hug. She rests her head on my shoulder, and can I feel the tears stinging the back of my eyes again. "It's okay," she whispers. "It's okay." 

I wish I was as sure.

~*~*~*~

I promise the next chapter is huge. _Everything_ changes........


	6. Crying to Indifferent Gods

The point of this chapter is that shifting the time frame by just a few minutes can change everything. And I mean _everything _:) I don't think anyone guessed what I meant with that last author's note. Oh goodie, that means more suspense:) I'm actually surprised I've never seen this done before. 'This' meaning the second half of the chapter, from Rick's POV. Ah, well, I'm the first. Yay me:) You'll see. Hee hee. Get on with it, Buffelyn. All right. Here we go...

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it's your dead meat from former days i am your crisis the asbestos in your veins i'm your broken fingers i killed you twice i will again revenge is eager see first you'll crash and then you'll burn it's your dead meat formaldehyde didn't faze me i soon returned to track you down for your confession i'll be your poison and your pain i'll be your struggle to be sane

--"car crash weather" bush

My first thought when I start awake is that it must be the turbulence. But Rick has hold of my arms, he is shaking me. "Wake up, Evy. Come on, wake up, we have to go."

My eyes open slowly, unwillingly, and I see all the boys are up and moving around the plane with urgency. Wind whips around us and muffles Rick's words. He hauls me to my feet when I don't seem to understand fast enough. "Are we there?" I ask, seconds before I realize the breeze I feel on my face is coming from the open cargo door. We are still in the air, why is the door open? Rick hands me a heavy backpack and I stand there stupidly, still not comprehending the apparent weight of the situation. 

"We have to jump, Evy," says Rick, sliding me into the pack. "He's right behind us."

As Rick moves to help Alex with another of the backpacks, my eyes move to the open door, and I come fully awake. A wall of water displaying a most-unwelcome visage bears down on our little plane. We seem to have cleared the Blue Nile, but it continues to pursue us, crashing over and through the trees like they are mere toothpicks. I look to Izzy. He has the controls in a death grip, and keeps shooting glances back at us as if to hurry us with his eyes. "Go!" he shouts above the wind. "Go! Go!" 

Ardeth and Jonathan disappear through the door (Ardeth practically dragging Jonathan, I notice,) and in an instant they are gone. Rick grabs my hands, tries to explain what I have to do, but I can only nod. Alex pulls me to the door. 

"You two first!" Rick shouts. "_Now_!"

I am given no time to prepare, for he shoves us unceremoniously out the door and into the mercy of the wind. Alex is ripped from my grasp and all I can see is an endless expanse of trees below me, rushing forward with alarming speed. Somehow I remember I have to open the parachute, and as I pull the cord the force yanks me back with a violent jerk that knocks the air out of my lungs. Out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of gold. A few more moments of panic, then the wind on my face becomes more regular, my breath returns, as I drift toward those inviting trees which moments before I was sure would be the death of me. 

It seems merely seconds, however, before I meet the trees feet-first, crashing through foliage which seems to my body to be made of bricks. With a painful thump I have suddenly stopped moving, and it takes me a moment for the cold mud of the jungle floor to seep into my bones and trigger the thought that I have landed. Everything goes black before I can register anything else. 

My eyes snap open to find I am inexplicably moving steadily through the jungle, though it is not the most comfortable journey I have ever experienced. I raise my head and see that my brother is my transport. He is practically carrying me. "Jonathan?" I mumble, and he stops dead. 

"Oh, thank God, you're awake!" he cries. "Are you all right, Evy?"

"I'm fine. Where is everyone else?"

"Can you walk if I support you a bit? My arms are a bit tired."

I nod my agreement and we resume our slow trek through the trees. "Where is everyone?" I ask again. I dread the answer but I have to know before another moment passes.

Jonathan seems to be unaware of this dire fact and takes a minute to reply. "Ardeth went to rejoin his people."

"Where's Alex? Where's Rick?"

"They went ahead, to the temple. Sun's coming up in about ten minutes. Keep moving, Evy, the local natives are a bit irritable."

"Do you think they'll make it?"

"Yes." Jonathan's grip on me tightens. "Yes, they will."

"What about Izzy?"

Jonathan doesn't answer again, forcing me to repeat my question. "Evy...the plane went down. We don't...we don't think he made it."

I couldn't have continued the conversation if I'd wanted to, but Jonathan seems to sense my sadness and keeps up a steady stream of talk. I think he intends to make me feel better, but his words have a dismal effect on me. The sun has so far declined to make an appearance, but the butterflies eating away at my stomach will not cease until I have seen my son safe and devoid of jewelry. 

We reach the safety of the pyramid and nothing happens. No fireworks, no congratulatory hurrah. Alex looks at me expectantly through the semi-dark, waiting for me to do something. He knows who I am, I think he's known it from the beginning, and for the first time in my life I'm a parent. My son is asking me to help him, and I am utterly out of ideas. 

I am spared, however, for we hear a loud click as the bracelet falls from Alex's wrist. We both stare at it there in the sand for a moment, and when he looks at me his smile is one of relief. Perhaps one that also says, 'This doesn't mean I like you or anything,' but it's a smile all the same, and I am perfectly willing to accept whatever olive branch he might offer, no matter how small. 

Our attention is drawn to the jungle as Evelyn and Jonathan emerge from the darkness. Alex runs to meet his mother, and they share yet another tearful reunion. Jonathan claps me on the back, and finally I see him smile again. The sun has begun to rise. 

"Can we go home now?" Alex asks, and as Evelyn and Jonathan reassure him that yes, it's over, I see something that makes me believe otherwise. 

The Bracelet no longer sits on the sandy floor of the temple entrance. I leave my companions and go to look at the spot where it fell. It's not there. It's just not there. 

Out of the blue Imhotep appears and I feel the cold steel of a blade ripping through me. I can't react except to look at the man with disbelief. No mortal could accomplish the look of such pure hatred that is shining in his eyes. As he pulls the blade from my abdomen I see Anck-su-namun behind him, holding the book in one hand and the bracelet in the other. 

As fast as they came they're gone, and I've never felt so alone. I chance a look down, and as my hand falls away from the wound, the blood nearly overwhelms me. The knife went in right of center, maybe not instant, but deadly enough. 

I've seen plenty of battles. I've seen men get blown to bits, I've heard them cry to indifferent gods with their last breath, I've carried the memories of friends killing, dying, dead. I've murdered men, I've prayed that they don't get me first, that my bullets will be more accurate than theirs. Call it what you will, call it the life of a soldier, call it duty, call it whatever makes you feel better. I've looked death in the eye, and rarely flinched at its toll. 

I'm finding out that it's a little different when you're the one dying. As I sink to my knees I suddenly become aware of other people around me. The first thing that snaps into focus is Evelyn's face, and my first thought is that I can't do this to her. I can't leave her again. I love Evelyn, but mostly all I've had have been the memories of her. Sunlight catching her hair as we walked down a random Cairo street, laughter twinkling in those beautiful eyes as she stood on tiptoes to kiss the end of my nose. Thunder rolling in the distance as she cuddled closer to me under a star-filled sky, the electricity of the coming storm filling the air with a sort of anticipation that had less to do with nature and more to do with two people in love. More often than is welcome, those memories have been tainted by others filled with the abject terror that I'd lose her before I'd gotten a chance to tell her so many things I wanted to. In the end, there was still never enough time. Even more that that, I remember the day I left; I remember the horrible certainty in the pit of my stomach that I was never going to see her again. 

I don't want to be just a memory to her. I don't want to leave. 

"Rick?" she asks, or at least I think she does. All sound seems muted somehow, as if my senses are shutting down one by one. She wraps her hands around mine and I am relieved to find I can still feel her with me. "Rick?" she says again. "Rick, answer me."

It almost hurts to speak, my throat is so tight. "I'm sorry, Evy."

"No. No, Rick, it's not your fault." She is shaking her head back and forth almost violently, and tears fling from her eyes to the ground. I'm not sure if I'm crying, too, for everything has become numb. Even the pain has faded to a manageable ache, and I'm sure that's probably not a good thing. 

My eyes move to her brother, who is holding onto Alex a few feet away. It occurs to me that in this past week I haven't inquired anything of Jonathan, and I wonder what sort of a person he is now. I wonder what he meant to Evelyn in these eight years since I knew them last. My son looks so tiny in his uncle's arms, and I can only be grateful to have known him, even though it was only for a few hours. I hope someday he's grateful that he knew me, if just for a little while. 

"Rick?" I hear Evy's voice again, but it sounds far away now. I can still feel her hand clutching at mine, my only tie to the rapidly vanishing reality of the sand and sun that floats around the edges of my awareness. 

Somehow I know I have strength to speak only once more, and I know the three words, three words that I didn't get to say enough times, will be the last thing I say to her. Through the fog that has clouded my senses I'm glad my own last memory is of Evelyn's face. 

"I love you," I can feel myself say, though I cannot hear my own words. Evelyn is replaced by an icy blackness that creeps over my eyelids and forces them closed with a finality that not even love could overcome. 

~*~*~*~

rrreeevvviiieeewww


	7. The Memory of Some Life

Thanks to...Natters, Marcher, Star (merci so much:), PhantomSarah, Allibabab, Craklyn, Seletha, MBooker, and Angel Ruse...

Looooong chapter, yay! And ooh! A "Cost of a Glance" allusion is buried waaaay in there. What fun:) Also I think I came up with a better Imhotep/Anck ending than the original, which I know almost everyone has issues with. I don't even like those two, and _I_ hated it. That's what's so great about fanfic. :) ~Buff

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all dreams have died along the way i coughed up a price i bought a cage i've had a hell of a time since i went away don't know when i died or where to lay down gone gone away so they say with time we slowly heal i caught a flash of your smile through the fog of a dream i'll have a hell of a time i clearly see i can't be by your side i'll see you when i sleep now you're gone gone away

--"gone" jerry cantrell

I can't get my head straight. I hate this feeling of not being in control of myself. I hate myself, I hate myself for what I've allowed to happen. It has to be my fault. Rick wouldn't be here if it weren't for me, he wouldn't have come to London to save me. Now more than ever, the thought that none of this would have happened if I hadn't been so stupid eight years ago, if I hadn't let the love of my life go without so much as a fight, if only I'd seen the truth, Rick wouldn't be dead. 

It hits me for the first time that I'm sitting next to a dead body. Rick is dead. Rick is dead, and there's nothing I can do. 

I feel Jonathan's hand on my shoulder, and he pulls me away from Rick. I feel him wiping tears away from my face, but I can't bear to look at him, I can't open my eyes, for the world that I would see through them terrifies me. "Come on, Evy, breathe. Just breathe, okay?"

I obey his instructions with little protest, and as I draw in a breath I realize my lungs ache for air. Jonathan continues to hold me as I concentrate on just living. Living. My eyes open and wander to Alex, who stands nearby as if he's not sure what he should be doing. I reach for him and he falls into my arms. 

"It's not fair," he says. "It's not fair."

"Think of it this way, Alex," says Jonathan, who hovers on the other side of his nephew as if we could shield him simply by our presence. "He's gone to a better place. Like it says in the Good Book, he who--"

"The book..." I interrupt, and my stomach does a somersault all the way up to my throat. Of course. The book. So appropriate that it should begin and end with the book. I let go of my son and stand. "Jonathan, stay here with Alex."

"Where are you going?"

I look him in the eye, and it hits him a half-second before I say it. "I'm going to get the book."

"Evy, no." My brother grabs my shoulders, but I push him away. He nods his head toward Alex in what I think is supposed to be an obscure, urgent way. "It's not worth the risk."

I look at my son and the sight of him doesn't have the effect I think Jonathan would have intended. I'm not going to let him grow up without a father. There is no way I'm letting this go, not now. I take Alex in my arms for one last hug before turning to Jonathan again. "I'll be right back."

"And what do you expect us to do?"

His tone is not critical, only desperate. "Whatever you can," I say, and I mean it. My mind may not be working through this entirely logically, but something tells me that I need Jonathan's help. We all have our part to play, though our fates may not be clear until they are shoved in our faces. Even then I am not sure what the hell is happening here. In the back of my mind I'm still screaming that this can't be real, this can't have happened, this just _doesn't happen_, it just _can't_. But it's not over. It's not over by a long shot. 

"I'm not letting you go alone," Jonathan says. "We're coming with you."

"Jonathan, don't--"

"No. I'm not letting you go alone," he repeats. "Let's go."

Despite my protest, deep down I am glad I will not be alone. Jonathan's right. I have to just live, for my brother, for my son. For Rick. I'm going to get him back. I don't allow myself to look at the body as I pass. Seeing him lying there would just make it more real. 

The three of us walk deeper and deeper into the pyramid, clutching each other's hands. "Shouldn't we have some sort of plan?" Jonathan asks. "I mean, we can't just walk up and say, 'Give us the book.'"

I rack my brain for something that doesn't seem like suicide. We need the book. And somewhere in there I have a feeling Imhotep's going to show up again. Two problems. Two birds with one stone. 

"I've got it," I announce. The boys look startled, as if they did not expect such decisive action. I draw two blades from a statue's hands as we pass it, and hand one to Jonathan. "We're going to sneak up on her."

"That's your plan? 'Sneak up on her?'"

"You haven't heard it all yet. We're going to take Anck-su-namun hostage. She's Imhotep's Achilles' heel. He won't risk hurting her."

"And what are we going to do after that?"

"Kill Imhotep. Kill the Scorpion King. Simple."

Jonathan rolls his eyes, then picks Alex up and sets him behind a stone pillar. "You stay here. We'll be right back."

For once Alex has no smart remark to toss back at his uncle, and I realize suddenly that my little boy has grown up in my week-long absence. He is no longer so little, and he looks so much like Rick my heart breaks all over again. 

I shake off these thoughts and move farther down the hallway, Jonathan right behind me. I can see Anck-su-namun in the adjoining room. She's not paying much attention, and I take the opportunity to wrap my arm around her neck. Just like that the blade hovers over her slender collarbone, and before she can move I twist her arms behind her back. 

"Nefertiri. Come to take your revenge?" she hisses in ancient Egyptian. 

"Where's the book?"

"I don't have it." I press the knife closer to her skin and she whimpers slightly despite her defiant words. "It's on the bench, over there."

Jonathan quickly spots the stone slab and rushes to the book. "Now what?" he asks, and Anck-su-namun has the audacity to laugh. 

"You two are so pitiful," she says. "This was your plan?"

"I think you've forgotten whose holding the knife."

"Would you kill me, Nefertiri?" she asks, struggling against my arms. "Could you? The sweet little princess, a cold-blooded murderer? That I'd like to see. I thought your precious Medjai was the killer."

For some reason I know she's talking about Rick, though I'm not sure why. I can feel a trickle of blood run from my fingers down to my wrist, and Anck-su-namun seems to get the message. "Jonathan," I say, "take the book and go back to--"

"Evy, I can't..." Jonathan looks ashamed, and for once in my life I cannot blame him for his shortcomings. What he's done for me has already exceeded duty. "I mean, I'm a bit rusty. I don't think I can read the ancient Egyptian." 

My plan has been shattered again. I can't send Jonathan on to face Imhotep; I know it has to be me. I can't leave Rick behind, I can't just...

"Mum?" says my son, stepping out from his hiding place. "I'll do it. Let me have the book."

No. "Alex, no, I--"

"Mum, let me have the book," he repeats, holding out his hands. 

Something is shining in his eyes, something so full of faith that I know it will never be crushed. I have to trust him. No, I _know_ I can trust him. My son, Rick's son. If there's anyone who can do this, it's Alex.

"Don't worry, mum," he says, taking the book from Jonathan. "It's going to be okay."

He's halfway down the hallway before I can find my voice. "I love you, Alex," I call, but he does not look back at me. 

"How touching," says Anck-su-namun, and I shove her forward as we begin to walk toward the main temple. Jonathan, my brave, darling brother Jonathan, is in front, one hand wielding a blade, and in the other, the Scepter of Osiris. 

Second chances only come for people who are willing to make them happen. I'm not giving up. I will never give up. 

An incredible warmth fills my lungs, though the fog that swirls about my absent limbs chills my skin. Vague shapes float around me, though none are the ones I am looking for. Somehow I feel frustrated, as though something is not as it should be. As the moments pass, I can feel the questions slowly slipping away, and it only makes me scramble more for the answers.

Then I feel pressure on my wrist, pulling me slightly in an opposite direction. A faint whispering accompanies the tugging, a language I pull out from the memory of some life and begin to translate in my head as I follow it through the indigo fog. 

The pseudo-air that fills my lungs burns horribly, but the pain chokes halfway up my throat and everything is thrown off balance. Maybe I black out for minute, I don't know, but suddenly the need to breathe becomes my main concern as I gulp in beautiful cool air. Slowly I become aware of the scratchy feel of the sand beneath me, and as my eyes focus I make out the sun in the sky above me. It burns my eyes and I raise a hand to cover my face. I hear a gasp, and move the hand to reveal Alex, who sits back on his heels, eyes wide. "Dad?" he says, and his voice is so faint that I'm not sure I heard him right. 

I sit up, feeling strangely full of energy for someone who has just received a fatal stab wound, and take in my surroundings. We are out in the bright sunlight again, but in my mind's eye I can't help but see it fading to black, dimming in the background while Evelyn's face remained as bright as day through my vanishing sight. 

"Where are they?" I say to Alex, though I really don't need to ask. There's only one place Evelyn and Jonathan could be. 

"Come on, I'll lead you there." 

I get up from the sand, trying not notice the red stains that now mar its pristine surface. As we make our way into the temple, I discreetly confirm that I am no longer bleeding to death, though through my ragged shirt I can feel an angry scar. A reminder, I suppose, of what I lost. I won't lose it again. "Alex?"

"Yeah?" 

Without thinking, I reach over and ruffle his hair. "Thank you."

He doesn't protest the gesture of familiarity, only smiles. "They went through that door, up there. They took Anck-su-namun prisoner."

"How brave."

When he looks at me this time, his face is so young. "My mum is very brave."

I chose a large ax from a nearby display. "Stay behind me, okay?" 

Someone screams from the opposite room, and I don't wait for Alex's answer. I run headlong through the indicated doorway, and the first thing that hits me is the heat. Fire everywhere, burning in great tubs and spewing from cracks in the floor. I don't see the priest anywhere, but there sure as hell is a giant bug chasing the love of my life across a fiery obstacle course. 

I've found that in the more intense moments of my life, I have a tendency not to think before I act. Thinking the situation out is not going to do me any good this time, because the only sensible thing to do seems to be to fly at the bug with my ax and hope to God he doesn't see me until the last second. Right?

This doesn't work out exactly as it should have, but close enough, for the bug's momentary distraction from his target allows me to get a good shot in. 

"Rick!" I hear Evelyn cry, before darting behind a nearby ruin, her eyes wide with the sight her un-dead lover come to rescue her. My attention is on her escape for a moment too long, and suddenly I find myself flung across the room by the bug, who seems quite pissed that I've interrupted his pursuit of Evelyn. 

Luckily, he has tossed me toward Jonathan, and he cushions my fall, though we both end up on the floor. He clutches a long golden spear, but it flies out of his hands and into the air, seeming to hang there for an agonizing moment before clattering to the ground. As it comes to rest I spot Imhotep near the opposite wall. He sees the spear, too. 

We both lunge for it, though I'm not quite sure why it's so important. The priest has a hold of it first but I manage to grab the other end, which is fortunately the end with the hilt. I roll away and simply pull the lance out of his grip. Before I can get up, however, the Scorpion King is suddenly above me, coming at me with lethal claws that could tear me to shreds in a moment. Without thinking, I stab the spear in the general direction of his heart. It meets flesh, and after a surprised roar, the bug explodes in a violent shower of ash. 

When it dissipates somewhat, the ground begins to roll and pitch. I struggle to my feet and through the heat and dust I can see Jonathan and Alex at the entrance, safe from the aftershocks. Evelyn is nowhere to be seen. Where?...

"Rick!" I hear again, and I see her across the room, locked in a swordfight which that bitch Anck-su-namun appears to have no intention of losing. For a brief moment I wonder what happened to Imhotep, but as I tempt the whims of the collapsing chamber, trying to make my way across to my own lover, all other thoughts are banished. Finally I reach the skirmishing pair, but Evelyn doesn't need my help anymore. With one swift right hook Anck-su-namun is down for the count, and now on the ground, her dazed movements don't present a threat. Evelyn looks up, takes a step toward me, but then stops, eyes wide. The ground gives way beneath the two women, and through the rock slices of terror are visible in the underworld below. 

I dive forward, and through some combination of love and luck her hand finds mine as she falls. I can feel my grasp on her slipping as the rock gives way, as a swarming mass of tortured souls attempt to pull the both of us down. They have already taken Anck-su-namun; I can see the faint shimmering of what had once been her soul falling down, down, into the pit. 

After what seems like an eternity, I somehow find the strength to pull Evelyn up and over the ledge. As we stand I see Imhotep again, but he is not looking at us. He stares at the abyss where Anck-su-namun disappeared, the fiery eternal grave that she has fallen into without a trace. He turns toward us, contemplates us with tears in his eyes. I think Evelyn feels sorry for him. He is left with nothing, again. But I cannot pity him. I got my second chance, and so did he. What we did with it determined our destinies, and he chose his own path. He nods, and with no expression on his face simply steps over the edge of the chasm. Just like that, he is gone. 

Evelyn and I run for the exit, where Jonathan and Alex still wait. The four of us race out of the chamber and through the pyramid, only to find that the entire Oasis seems to be disappearing from whence we came. As we climb up, up, up, I run through a million solutions in my head. We reach the top and I know that none of them are going to work. We're trapped. 

Then, a different sort of buzzing noise to accompany the ringing in our ears. A plane bursts out of the mass of swirling greenery and rises above us. A step-ladder falls from it and nearly hits me on the head as I grab for it. It pitches back and forth as the plane moves in tight circles above us, but somehow I manage to hang on to it. "Get on!" I yell above the howling of the wind. Evelyn grabs Alex and they wrap their arms around the rungs. 

Suddenly they are snatched from us as the ladder flings to the left. After a moment of panic I realize they are still hanging on, though they dangle above us. The plane is heading toward us for one last run, and Jonathan and I leap for it the ladder as it passes. By some dumb luck we both manage to find a hold on it, and I feel my feet lift from the pyramid just as the tip of it disappears into the flurry of sand and palm trees. 

It seems to take hours for everyone to inch their way up the step-ladder as it twirls dangerously in the air. First Alex climbs into the cargo door, followed by Evelyn and Jonathan, and finally myself. I manage to close the door against the wind and as I turn I am once again enveloped in a group hug.

"Gave me up for dead, did you O'Connell?" says Izzy from his seat at the front of the plane. "Some thank you!"

"At least you didn't get shot," I say from the midst of the hug, adding, "Thank you, by the way," before Izzy turns his attention back to the controls, rolling his eyes. Jonathan and Alex eventually pull away from everyone and collapse on seats up near the front, but Evelyn remains in my arms. "Don't ever do that again, okay?" I whisper into her hair, and I can feel her laughing softly. 

"Speak for yourself," she says, and raises her face so I can see her. "I guess we're even now, right?"

"Not quite. Marry me, would you?"

She grins, but takes a minute to answer, probably just to torture me. "If you insist."

"I do."

Her grin fades and suddenly we're lost in one of those moments again. "So do I," she whispers, and as she kisses me, this one moment makes up for everything in my life that's ever gone wrong. 

~*~*~*~

Not the end, only a pause in the action. It'd be just peachy if y'all would review, please:)


	8. Nothing But Shadows of the Past to Comfo...

Merci beaucoup to Star (rest assured there will be hearts-and-flowers right alongside the earth-shattering crises:), Marcher, Nora, Shelby, Natters, Marxbros, PZB, and Seletha. 

This story is now going to go wherever the spirit moves me. Currently that means continuing to follow our characters as a father gets to know his son; as two people try to hold onto each other on the angst-filled path toward eternal happiness, etc., etc. We'll be answering those pesky questions about the past as we go. I meant to begin that in this chapter, but Rick and Evelyn wouldn't have it. Sometimes they just do whatever they feel like, and I can't stop them! Anyway, I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes, are you?! ;) ~Buffster

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it was a monday when my lover told me never pay the reaper with love only what could i say to you except i love you and i'd give my life for yours i know we are we are the lucky ones dear remember the time we made love in the roses and you took my picture in all sorts of poses how can i ever get over you when i'd give my life for yours i know we are we are the lucky ones it's time to dance time to sit here and say i know we are the lucky ones

--"lucky" bif naked

When I wake the ground below me is solid. We are no longer in the air, and the knowledge throws my equilibrium off for a few moments. I blink to clear the sleep from my eyes and realize I'm in what is likely a hotel room, brushed pink walls and cheap oak sideboards. The mattress beneath me sags, but nevertheless it is a comfortable bed for the first time in over a week. Alex is sound asleep beside me, and once again the sight of him floods me with relief. My baby is safe, he's in my arms, and finally I can feel like myself again, whole. 

Well, as whole as I could have felt with one half of me missing. Another rush of joy overcomes me as I recall that I am no longer so lost; that I never again will have to feel so lonely as I lay in bed at night with nothing but shadows of the past to comfort me; that Alex will be able to come home and know where his dad is, instead of wondering his whole life why he didn't want him. I'll never have to wonder. 

I kiss Alex on the forehead and leave the little hotel room in search of sustenance (when was the last time I ate?) and the rest of my family. It's a little suite of rooms, and I go through an empty bedroom before I find a little common room with a couch and a cooler and a window overlooking a port. I don't go in, though, for Jonathan and Rick are sitting at the little bar, apparently having a deep philosophical conversation. 

"All I'm saying," declares Jonathan in an exaggerated (probably inebriated) whisper, "is that Cary Grant's got nothing on me. Think about it! I'm rich, infinitely more handsome, and I'm willing to bet I'm a better actor."

"I'm sure Mae West would disagree."

"Pahh!" Jonathan throws his hands up. "That was a horrible movie. I could'a done it better."

"As it is, Jon, I think a good night's sleep is in order. Not that your conversational skills aren't entertaining, but--"

I step into the room and notice Rick sits up a little straighter. "You're leaving, and I've only just arrived?" I pout. Jonathan rolls his eyes. 

"Oh, please," he mutters. "I'm just in time for more mushy love crap from the couple of all mushy couples. I think I liked it better when you'd given up on each other."

Jonathan is indeed drunk, so it takes him a few moments to realize what he's said (that, or perhaps it's the uncomfortable silence that immediately fills the room). "Oh," he says. "I... I didn't mean that. I didn't mean anything. I, uh, I think I better, uh, sleep this off."

He staggers off his chair and practically sprints out of the room, slamming the door to the little bedroom in his wake. The room is overflowing with silence, screaming at me in conversation's absence to say something, anything to break it. Why doesn't Rick say anything?

I raise my eyes to his and he still doesn't speak for what seems like forever. "Are you hungry?" he says finally, suddenly, and leaps off the stool. 

"Starved."

He goes to the cooler and immediately begins to pull yummy, blessed food from its depths. "Jonathan and I went to the store earlier."

"Before or after he got completely smashed?"

"Before. Where do you think he got all the liquor?" Rick places bread on the counter, meats, cheeses. "I'd forgotten how he could pack it away."

"You've forgotten a lot of things." He raises his eyebrows, and I point to the meat. "I'm a vegetarian."

Rick doesn't answer, only draws a little container labeled "hummus" from the cooler. Lettuce, tomatoes, peanut butter, blueberries, crackers... "I love you," I say. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

He grins. "Hopefully as more than a bringer of hummus," he says, and leans over the counter to kiss me. I taste berries; apparently he started in on them already. 

"You taste like blueberries," I tell him, and he responds by kissing me again. 

"You taste like Evelyn," he says, and I can feel the color rising in my cheeks. "You're also cute when you blush."

I concentrate on making a sandwich. "You're just pretty cute in general."

"Only in general?"

"Well..." I look up from the sandwich. He's watching me, so intently, and I never want him to look away. "You do have beautiful eyes. I missed your eyes... He has your eyes, you know."

They look away. "I know."

"When did you...know? I mean, when did you know that he was..."

Rick begins to put the food back in the cooler. "London. When you were kidnapped."

My stomach twists into a knot. He knew all along. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was waiting for you to tell me." Rick takes a bite of his sandwich. He swallows, takes another bite. I remember that I should eat, though I'm really not so hungry anymore. I force a bite down my throat. Fortunately the silence doesn't last long, though, as Rick changes the subject again. "Izzy headed back to the Magic Carpet as soon as he dropped us off. Couldn't wait to get away."

"Where are we, by the way?"

"Cairo. Next boat to Alexandria leaves in the morning."

"Oh." Doubt, for so many years a close friend, creeps into my consciousness again. "What are you...going to...do now?"

.Rick has polished off the sandwich by now, and he begins to walk slowly around the counter, toward me. "What kind of a question is that?"

"I just meant--I mean, I'm just... I..."

He's reached me now, and he takes the sandwich out of my hands, places it on the counter. "What am I going to do now? Let's see...I think I'm going to marry you. Pretty damn sure, actually. You're never going to get rid of me, babe. I'm going to move all my stuff wherever yours is and take over half your bed. I'm going to follow you on crazy archaeological digs to the middle of nowhere and keep you from waking up mummies. I'm going to get to know my son, and try and earn his forgiveness, hopefully his trust. And I was hoping I could spend the rest of my life with you. That was pretty much my plan."

"Oh." I wrap my arms around him, relieved beyond all measure. "Good."

"Evy, I know it's going to take awhile...for us to trust each other again. I know sometimes it's going to be rough. But I know that I cannot let you go again. We can get through this. We can be a family. We can be... We're going to be happy. We're going to be okay now."

"Promise?"

"Yeah." 

This time it's she who kisses me, and I'm nearly bowled over by the passion that her insistent lips induce. Was it always that way, or was it the passage of those eight years which built up such an explosion of feeling? Either way I don't have much time to think about it, for already somehow we've ended up on the couch, and those beautiful lips are intent on convincing mine that I really shouldn't be thinking about anything else. 

"Wait," I say, momentarily pulling away. I'm a little surprised at my own words, but somehow the logical part of my brain hasn't quite been shut off yet. "Evelyn."

"What?" Her hair has fallen out of its ponytail, and her eyes have that look in them... 

"Don't you think...I mean... Maybe we should wait."

Her forehead creases like it does when she thinks I'm crazy. "You were perfectly willing at Abu Simbel."

"I know, I just... I think we should do things right this time around. Besides, you know Jonathan and Alex are going to walk in. Wouldn't you rather..." I can't resist kissing her, but it's really more to prove my point than anything else. "Think about it. An actual wedding night. Just the two of us. Fancy hotel. Champagne."

"Mmm. I already tend to lose my sense of self-control around you, I don't know if you want to throw champagne into the equation."

"Ah, that's right. You don't share your brother's tolerance for alcohol." 

"Certainly not." Evelyn jumps off the couch and makes for her abandoned sandwich. "It's just as well, I'm famished. So..." She comes back around to the couch and sits delicately in my lap, nibbling at the sandwich. "...when is this proffered wedding night going to take place? Sooner rather than later, I hope."

"Where do want to get married?"

She is silent, chewing on her hummus sandwich and contemplating me with serious eyes. Finally she swallows and says, "Cairo. It's where we met."

"Agreed. But not actually in the prison, okay?"

She doesn't take the teasing bait. "Okay." She chews on her sandwich some more. "There's a little church down by the market. I know the priest."

"Wonderful. Day after tomorrow okay with you?"

She gulps down the last bite of her sandwich and settles into me, her head on my shoulder. "Absolutely. So...what happens after that?"

"I think we established the whole wedding night concept earlier."

"No, I mean... After we're married. What are we going to do? Where are we going to live?"

I haven't thought about that. Why hasn't this occurred to me? Boston would be the least logical choice. We can't uproot Alex from his home, and I know Evelyn couldn't stand to leave her brother. Plus it would make no sense to always be traveling between America and Egypt. 

"I know it's horrible of me to even..." she trails off. "I can't ask you to leave Boston. All your friends, your home, your business--"

"I'd leave in a heartbeat." Now she looks as though she might cry. "I will go wherever you are."

Okay, now she really is crying. Great. "Would you...move to London?"

"Do you want me to?" She nods, her tears presumably having obstructed speech. "It's the obvious choice, baby. There's nothing tying me to Boston. Everything I could ever want is within thirty feet of me right now. You, Alex... That's all that matters to me now... Besides, there's a London office."

At least this time my joke draws a smile, but she sniffles for a bit longer. "What about all your stuff?"

"I'll move it. Oh..." I don't recall Evelyn ever mentioning pet allergies, but... "Um, I sort of have a dog."

Luckily she laughs. "What's his name?"

"Addison."

"Well, Alex is allergic to cats, but we're okay with dogs." She sighs, snuggling deeper. "We have a tendency to kill gold fish, but..."

I can feel her breathing slow down, feel her relax as she drifts further into slumber. Very carefully I lift her from the couch and carry her to the little back bedroom, where our son still sleeps. I lay her down onto the bed next to him, and sit with them a moment, just watching them. I lean down and kiss my fiancé gently before standing again and leaving them to their sleep. 

As I reach the door I hear Evelyn mumble something, so I turn back. "What, Evy?"

"Ham sandwich," she says, still half-asleep. "You taste like a ham sandwich."

"Good night, Evy."

~*~*~*~

Remember at the beginning when I said there were going to be eight chapters? As it turns out, I lied. More is coming:):):)


	9. Underneath Those Selfsame Stars

Man, I' m on a roll. I should be rolling on homework, but this is more fun. 

_i watch your window for hours moon has set down without us all by ourselves riding in the front seat watch the sun come up all by ourselves we would run remember it was so long ago it was a long time ago feel your hand close beside me hear the highway behind me all by ourselves we made love under the sleeping moonless night all by myself i can see it like it's right before my eyes by myself as time goes by_

--"time ago" black lab

Mmm, there is absolutely nothing better than a good night's sleep and a shower after spending a week in an airplane flying over a desert. I have never felt better. My life isn't perfect, no. I know it's going to get better, even. But I'm so in love with what I've got at this very moment, I can't even imagine being in any other situation. 

I wake before everyone else, and set about arranging muffins on a plate. I'm not exactly a world-class chef, but I try, okay? After that I have nothing to do. It's a hotel room so there's nothing to tidy, I left London in a rush so I have no work to do, and all the men in my life are sleeping off hangovers, kidnappings, and trips to the great beyond. 

God, I love my life. 

Finally Alex appears, bleary-eyed and blinking, into the common room. "Morning, mum."

"Hi, handsome. Hungry?"

"Yeah!" Alex sprints across the room and vaults onto the stool, eyeing the muffins. After a moment, he chooses one and begins to gnaw at it, all traces of drowsiness gone in the face of a cranberry orange muffin. 

"I thought maybe later we could all go out to lunch. How about that cafe you like with the Italian sodas?"

Alex nods but concentrates on his muffin, carefully digging the cranberries from its fluffy depths and piling them on the counter. The crumbs are spreading rapidly; I can see them migrate across the counter, off, to the floor and all over his clothes. I should tell him to be neater, but somehow I can't bring myself to reprimand him. Not today. 

"Alex, honey?"

His mouth is full of muffin. "Yeah, mum."

I'm not quite sure what to say, but the words come of their own accord. Perhaps it springs from some deep motherly instinct that still can't trust that I have my son back unscathed. "Are you all right? Is there anything you want to talk about? Anything...over the past week that you...don't understand, or want to tell me--"

"Let's talk about you and Rick."

I blink. "What? No, honey, I meant--"

"I know what you meant. I'm fine, mum, I swear. They didn't hurt me. I want to talk about you and Rick."

"Um...okay." Am I really having this conversation? "What exactly do you...want to talk about?"

He wipes some crumbs from his mouth and brushes them on the counter. "I think you should marry him."

"You do?" I blurt. Where did this come from? "May I ask...why?"

He looks at me with all the amazing wisdom of his eight years. "Because I've never seen you smile this much."

My throat closes up. "Honey, I don't want you to blame Rick...your...."

He puts down the muffin. "You can say it, mum."

"Your dad...I don't want you to blame him for not being here for all these years, I... It's not his fault. It's not anybody's fault, and I don't want you to..."

"I know." Alex pops a cranberry in his mouth, then another. "Uncle Jon explained it to me."

Oh, God. I can only imagine how Jonathan explained our little affair. I can barely explain it myself. "Did he? What exactly did he...explain?"

Alex shrugs, as if I should know the answer already. "He just said that sometimes, even when two people love each other, they can't get it together and sometimes they do stupid things. He said that sometimes, if they really want it, they get a second chance." Alex plays with the crumbs on the counter, pushing them into a little pattern with the remaining cranberries. "I think that's what you guys got, a second chance. I dunno." He picks up a cranberry, studies it. "I want you to be happy."

I can't swallow the words before they spill out of my mouth. "I love you, Alex."

"Yeah, yeah." He throws a cranberry at me. "So when are you going to marry him?"

"Well, you're certainly not invited if you throw cranberries at your mother. It's not good manners."

He grins, gathering the rest of the berries into sticky hands. "Don't tempt me, mum."

"You know, Alex," says Rick from behind us, "you'd get a lot better distance on those cranberries if you had a slingshot."

"Certainly not!" I cry, but I see a look pass between them that is meant to be over the mother's head, and I shut my mouth. "All rested?"

"Yep," says Rick, and grabs a muffin. He's so damn cute. Eight hours is much too long to be away from this man. He grins at me through his mouthful of muffin and I suddenly wish desperately that he'd just grab me and kiss me madly in the middle of a motel kitchen, morning breath and muffin and all. 

Of course, this little fantasy is going to have to wait, because after a moment of staring at each other we both realize that our son is still sitting at the counter, staring at us, too. "So Rick," says Alex. "When are you going to marry my mum?"

Rick nearly chokes on the muffin. "Water?" he croaks, and I grab a glass for him. Once he's successfully swallowed without killing himself, he turns to Alex. "I was thinking about tomorrow, what do you think?"

"I think that's good," Alex nods. "Have you asked her yet?"

"Yeah."

"Did she say yes?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Alex sets down the cranberries, and I whisk them away before he can do any more damage with fruit. "I have to ask you some things first though, before I let you marry her."

Rick takes a stool. "That's fair. Ask away."

"Do you have a job?"

"Yes. I run a shipping business out of Boston."

"Do you make enough to support a family?"

"I'd say so."

"How much?"

Rick glances at me, then names a number that makes me choke on _my_ muffin. God, he's practically tripled what we sold off of Hamunaptra, and that's just in a year! 

"You all right, mum?" Alex asks, but forgets me soon enough as I nod through my suffocation. "Do you have a house?"

"Yeah, but... We were thinking maybe we could all live together in London."

Alex considers this. "Yeah, I guess that'd be okay. I only have one more question... Do you love my mum?"

Rick smiles, eyes locked on Alex's. "Yes," he says simply, and Alex smiles, too. 

"Then it's settled. Mum, you can marry him."

I clear my muffin-clogged throat and gulp down the rest of the water. "Thank you, Alex."

"Can I go play now? I'm done with breakfast."

"Yes, honey."

Alex flies off the chair and sprints out of the room with the 8:00 a.m. energy that only an eight year old can muster. The moment he's out of the room, Rick sweeps me into his arms and kisses me as passionately as I'd imagined he would, only sans the muffin crumbs, and he seems to have brushed his teeth. 

Even better.

Every time I come back to Cairo, I am always amazed at how much it feels like home. I could be away for days or years, but it always seems right when I'm here. I guess growing up in a place you become attached to it, but somehow for the past eight years it's been the memory of Evelyn that's kept me coming back. I've taken more business trips to Egypt than was probably necessary, and I never found her there (always alternating between wishing I could just run into her and hoping I'd never see her again), but just the thought of her, of our brief time together in Cairo, was enough to make it the perfect city. 

Having her now, walking beside me underneath those selfsame stars that I always pictured in my dreams, is enough to make Cairo, or wherever she's standing, heaven on earth. 

As we round the corner, nearing the hotel again after our walk, she speaks. "Jonathan told Alex something very interesting."

"And what was that?"

She waves her hands to dismiss it, as if she hadn't brought it up. "It's not important. It was rather sweet, actually. Just about what happened eight years ago. Jonathan didn't go into any specifics, but...I was thinking about...what we would tell Alex if he asked us."

"Oh." Suddenly I feel the need to look anywhere but at Evelyn. "Okay. Can I ask you something?" She nods. "Whatever happened to Hugh?"

Evelyn squints her eyes, apparently trying hard to figure out who the hell I'm talking about. "Hugh? Hugh who?"

She doesn't remember him. Many an hour have I wasted over the years, torturing myself by wondering if my Evelyn had ended up with that Bembrige bastard Hugh "I'm better than you" Meridian, and she doesn't remember him. I can't believe she doesn't remember him! "Hugh who? Hugh Meridian? Tall, skinny, glasses, know-it-all, supposedly desperately in love with you?"

She starts to speak, then snaps her mouth shut, eyes widening. "Oh. Hugh. Right."

"So...what happened with him?"

"To him or with him?" She stops, crosses her arms, and now her eyes are narrow, flashing. "Are you implying something here? Because you'd better just come out and say it if you are."

Shit. It was just a simple question! We have to answer them sooner or later, we can't live the rest of our lives ignoring the past! Of course, I don't impart any of this wisdom to Evelyn. Instead, I say, "Evy, the guy followed you around like a lovesick puppy dog. I figured...I don't know."

"What? What did you figure?"

"I thought...no, I worried--that maybe part of the reason you didn't show up was because...of him. There, I said it." 

Her expression softens a bit under the starlight. Or perhaps she's still furious (wait...what did I do?!), I can't really see her in the semi-darkness. "Rick...you thought that I...chose Hugh Meridian...over you? Is that what you thought?"

"Over the years I've thought a lot of things, Evy. That particular possibility crossed my mind more than once."

She puts her hands over her mouth, muffling her next words. Then she throws her arms around me quite unexpectedly, and I'm amazed at how just having her in my arms calms eight years of mental torment. "This is horrible of me, but I hated that man!" she says. "I couldn't stand him! I was only polite to him because he was a Bembridge Scholar! I can't believe you thought..." She draws back and smacks me on the shoulder. "And what, you thought I was the type of girl who'd just hop from your bed to his? I think I've just been insulted."

My relief is so great at her non-interest in Hugh that I nearly forget to reply. "No, see, you should take it as a compliment. I was so in love with you that the idea of you being with another guy was enough to send me into eternal agony. If you think about it, it's actually rather sweet."

She shakes her head. "I'm still insulted."

"I love you."

"No."

No? What the hell does that mean? "Um, 'no?'"

She points a finger at me, shaking it angrily. "Don't think you can just say 'I love you' and make everything all right."

"Evy, it's not like I was worried you were sleeping with him or something, I was just...worried that what we had was too good to be true. Like, it couldn't last. I'm not exactly good at holding onto people in my life, and then you came along, and... It scared me."

She drifts back into my arms and buries her head so I can hardly hear her. "I'm going to have to get over this not-being-able-to-stay-mad-at-you thing, or I'm going to end up losing all our fights."

I just hold her for a moment, noticing only now how the street has enveloped us in the full blackness of night with only the moon and stars to guide us. "Come on," I say, tugging her toward the direction of the hotel again, "we should get back."

We walk in silence for a few moments more, but the questions are still simmering inside my head, and I can't refrain from asking another one. "Evy...has there been...another guy?"

"No." She breathes in the Cairo air and exhales it again, slowly. "Never like you. And..."

"No. No guys in my life."

She laughs, clouting me again, but it's good-natured this time. "Rick..."

I shake my head, my grip on her growing tighter. "I could never get around the fact that it wasn't you."

Evelyn rests her head on my shoulder. "It'll always be me, Rick. Just promise it'll always be us."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

~*~*~*~

Your reviews just make my day. Merci!!! :):):)~Buff


	10. Out of Harm's Way From the Tempest Swirl...

My readers probably think I have way too much time on my hands. I don't, it's just that I should be reading about sociolinguistic crap instead of doing this, but is that any fun? Noooooo..... Plus CG was already written, so really it was just this one I've been working on. It helps distract me when I feel like quitting school and moving to Ghana. I can't not post this fic when I finish a chapter, I just can't help it! I go through periods of not writing anything for a long, long time...but then I just get all inspired and _bam! _a million chapters in a week. Also, f*** the Ducks!!! Heh heh....we rock. :):):)

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today i woke up and you were gone the whole day wondering what i did wrong it's like i'm falling from a mountaintop my heart keeps pounding and it won't stop can you see this hell i'm leaving i'm not giving up there goes a piece of me well i cease to be i never lied to you fought and died for you there she goes and i'm on the ground i'm on the ground i'm on the ground

--"deny" default

Jonathan has already tucked Alex into bed by the time we get back, but he's waiting up for us at the bar, two drinks poured. "Take a seat, Rick," he says. "I'd like to talk to you about something." 

Rick squeezes me tightly for a moment before letting me go and sitting next to Jonathan. "Good night, boys," I say, kissing both of them on the cheek in turn. "Behave."

"Always, Evy," says Jonathan. I leave them alone then, wanting desperately to know what exactly it is the ensuing conversation will cover, but suppressing my eavesdropping instincts. In the first little bedroom, Alex is tangled up in the sheets, his consciousness mired in dreams. I sit at the edge of his bed and brush the hair from his forehead. He looks so innocent asleep, so I've learned to savor these quiet moments, because the moment my son wakes he can turn into the human hurricane. Never a dull moment, I suppose. I wonder what Rick looked like when he was a kid. I bet he was blond, and I already know Alex has his father's eyes. 

I sigh, leaving my son to his dreams and retreating into the bathroom. There's so much I don't know about Rick. All I really have of his past is the sketchy recollections that he saw fit to share eight years ago, and those have faded mostly into memory. I know his parents died when he was just a child, ten, I think. Raised in an orphanage, thrown to the wolves at the age of sixteen, and... 

Actually, that's pretty much the extent of my knowledge. Over a decade missing, and now nearly another one heaped on top of it. What history do we ourselves have with each other except a few weeks in the desert, a few more in Cairo, and...

A night.

~~

__

He and the lawyer in the trench coat spoke in hushed tones for what seemed like hours before Rick came back to me, holding out his hand for mine and then pulling me out of the room. "Who is that man?" I asked, and he sighed...

~~

I shake off the recollections and set about trying to find the toothpaste. I thought dealing with two men was bad, now I'll be outnumbered three to one and I'll _never_ have a clean bathroom again. As I search my mind drifts again.

~~

__

Storm clouds gathered above us, blotting out the little twinkling stars one by one as the gray crept over the black. "I have to sign by the end of the month, or it transfers to some distant cousin," said Rick, his arms tightening around me as we watched the sky display. "I want the house, Evy. I remember it. I remember my parents in it. I want to...I don't know."

"I think you should go," I said, and my own words filled me with terror at the thought that he might heed them. 

"Boston..." Rick shook his head. "Twenty years must have changed it so much..."

"Well, are you going to find out?" I said, trying to keep my tone cheery. 

He looked at me, kissed my forehead. "Of course I am. I mean, it's my home. Technically. And of course there's that distant cousin who gets everything if I don't show up. I actually have a family member. Can you believe that? Family..."

I plastered a smile on my face to match his enthusiasm, my heart consumed in pain and selfishness all at the same time. It was Rick's life, he should have been able to do what he wanted with it. But the thought of him leaving, of him...

...leaving me...

~~

I realize I've finally found the toothpaste, but my brain doesn't feel like doing much of anything except feeling sorry for myself. I sit on the edge of the bathtub and draw my legs up, attempting to wallow in as much self-pity as I can squeeze out of the moment. Everything's fine. Everything's perfect. But the fact remains that it hasn't been for eight years, and we can't ever get those years back. 

~~

__

"I'm just down the hall if you need me," said Rick, walking backwards out the door. He started to say something else but stopped himself, then turned and fled down the hallway. I knew he wanted to stay, I could see it in his eyes, but for some reason he didn't offer and I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud. The storm raged outside; flashes of light followed by waves of rolling thunder that seemed to get closer with every second. I shivered in spite of myself, knowing full well that I was certainly not afraid of thunderstorms, but feeling more terrified than I'd ever been. I hated feeling so alone, so dependent on some emotion I couldn't even name. 

Someone knocked at the door, and I opened it to reveal Rick. "Evy, I have to ask you something--" he said, but my lips cut short his words before he'd gotten them all out. I pulled him inside and we shut the door against the howling wind, filled with such a violent ache to be near each other that the storm seemed somehow muted. As the night wore on, as we made love out of harm's way from the tempest swirling outside, I forgot any hesitation I ever had about us, about him. Every moment simply seemed so right that I never thought to question it. 

Only as the morning dawned did I begin to have doubts about what we had done. Now more than ever I knew I couldn't bear to lose him. I didn't want him to leave me. 

I had to leave before he did it first. 

We sit at the bar in silence for a minute. Jonathan gulps his drink down but I leave mine untouched. "What did you want to talk to me about?" I ask him, and he stares into the depths of his glass with somber eyes. 

"I want to know something, O'Connell. I want to know you two aren't going to screw up and ruin each other's lives all over again."

I pick up the drink. "It worked out okay." 

"You don't know that." Jonathan shakes his head, slowly. "You haven't stood by and watched Evy sink for eight years, trying to convince her to climb out of the emotional hole she dug for herself. She's still not out of it. She never will be. Alex knows a different woman than I knew before you left. You have no idea how much she changed."

"I'm going to find out."

Jonathan chuckles. "Don't get me wrong, Rick. You two are so perfect for each other it's sickening. I just..." He sighs now, tipping a little more alcohol into the glass, watching it swirl around the bottom as he pours. "It's not going to be easy. You two need to understand that. And if either of you give up on it, I'm going to hunt you both down and tie you together so you can't hurt each other like you did. Not again. I don't think Evy could survive that again."

A suspicion begins to form in my mind, though I can't give voice to it. "What did she tell you happened?"

"She didn't tell me much." Jonathan tops off my glass though I haven't yet drank out of it. "A few months later I knew all I needed to know. So did everybody else."

I want to defend myself but no explanation I could give would satisfy Jonathan. I wanted her to go with me. I was in the midst of asking her, but with one thing and another I never got that far. Afterwards, when I couldn't find her, I wrote a note instead. I know she got it; Jonathan told me so the last time I saw him. But even when the likelihood became larger that it was she who had abandoned me, she who had decided I wasn't worth it... I still couldn't believe the reality that was quickly taking over. Before everything turned to Hell, I remember thinking I'd found Heaven. Until that morning came. 

~~

__

I woke to the first rays of morning and an empty bed. At first I thought maybe she'd gotten up to go to the bathroom. Maybe she was in the sitting room. As the minutes passed more possibilities entered my mind. She went to get breakfast, she had to go to work, she...

Left.

The apartment was empty save for myself and the sunlight that slowly crept in through the curtains and clashed with my frame of mind. She left. A million explanations entered my mind but somehow I knew that she didn't think of any of them. She was just...

Gone. 

~~

"I have to ask Evelyn something," I say. I don't think Jonathan replies as I fly off the stool and away, but my mind is on other things and I'm not really paying much attention. Evelyn isn't with Alex, and she isn't in the other bedroom, so I try the bathroom and find her sitting in the bathtub, staring forlornly at the faded tile. 

"Hi," she says, in a voice so tiny that she doesn't sound like herself. "Sit with me, would you?"

I take a seat on the edge of the tub, noting the forgotten toothpaste in Evelyn's hand. "Are you okay?"

She takes a deep breath and smiles through it, putting a brave face over some emotion I can't yet discern. "I am. I'll be okay. We're going to be okay."

Suddenly my earlier eagerness to learn the truth, no matter how horrible it might have been, diminishes as I contemplate the woman I love, sitting in a bathtub for no apparent reason. She's in pain. "What's wrong, Evy?"

"Have you noticed..." she says, then pauses. "Have you noticed," she starts again with renewed determination, "that every time the past comes up we do whatever we can to sweep it under the rug?"

"Maybe that's how it should be."

"No." She shakes her head. "No. If we don't deal with it, it'll just continue to eat at us... Then there won't be a relationship left for us to protect."

There it is. I have to say it. "Evy...I have to ask you something."

She rips her concentration from the bathroom tile and stares at me, point-blank and honest. "I panicked."

"What?"

"There's your answer. You want to know why I left before you woke up; you want to know where I went; why I..." She squeezes her eyes shut, about to cry, then apparently decides against it and looks at me again. "I panicked. I was scared. I don't know what else to say, Rick, I just... I was scared that it didn't mean anything; I was scared that you were going to get on a boat and go to America and forget about me."

She does start to cry now, and I lift her out of the bathtub and sit her on the edge next to me. "Then why weren't you on that boat, Evy? I tried to find you; I searched for hours. Finally I wrote that note just in case, and I know you got it, Jonathan told me. Then you didn't show up. If I hadn't thought you didn't want to come, I would have gotten off the Goddamn boat and tried to find you again."

Evelyn looks to the ceiling, wiping away tears with her free hand. "I found the note. I packed. I said goodbye to Jonathan. I went to the ticket office and they said there was no ticket under my name. Or yours. I thought it was a trick or something." She looks at the toothpaste in her hands, seeming to remember now that she still clutches it. "I guess I was looking for something to blame it on. I wanted to blame you. I wanted you so desperately, but I..." Her head falls to my shoulder, and she buries her words there. "I gave up. I gave up far too easily, and I don't deserve a second chance with you. I don't deserve--"

"Evy. It isn't your fault. Those idiots at the docks screwed up. I reserved your ticket, it should have been there. Even then, I shouldn't have gone, I should have tried to find you again--"

"No! Then you would have lost your rights to the will. You had to go."

I raise her face up and rest her forehead against mine. "I would have stayed for you." She smiles a little, and I kiss her forehead lightly, then her nose, her lips. 

"I know," she whispers. "I know."

A long time passes, but we stay where we are, just holding each other. We sit in silence, for no other reason than that the silence is enough. 

~*~*~*~

Much appreciating your support...merci:):):)


	11. Braver and Better Men

See, I told you it would take me forever to get another chapter written. But lo and behold, three hours of a Bachelor marathon and half of the Exorcist later, I wrote more. Thanks to natters, marxbros (praise for my dialogue? you are too kind!:), marcher, allibabab, seletha, mexx (glad you're enjoying TM fandom, and thanks!:), and star (love ya, dearie! hmm, maybe I should toss in more mortal peril...you've got me thinking...bwahahahah!:)

__

every day is a new day i'm thankful for every breath i take i won't take you for granted so i learn from my mistakes it's beyond my control sometimes it's best to let go whatever happens in this lifetime so i trust in love you have given me peace of mind i feel so alive for the very first time and i think i can fly sunshine upon my face a new song for me to sing even though it might cost me everything now that i see you i believe no matter what they say

--"alive" pod

My belief is that every bride, no matter how checkered her past, deserves to wear white on her wedding day. Whether she be an eighteen-year-old virgin or a reformed prostitute, we all should get to wear that big white piece of fluff once in our lives. 

It isn't exactly fluffy, but it's white, and it's the best I could come up with on short notice. The tight-fitting bodice gives way to a skirt that flares just slightly below my knee. This is covered by a flowy, sheer white fabric that shimmers around me as I move. 

I wrap a beaded shawl around the dress and contemplate the image that greets me in the mirror. I've pulled some of my hair back and entwined the baby's breath Jonathan managed to find for me. The gown is subtle, and if you didn't know I was getting married, I might just look like I was attending a fancy party. I would feel silly in a full-out wedding dress, anyway. I've long since passed the time when I had any girlish dreams about my wedding day. Indeed, any such plans for the future evaporated when I found myself pregnant and alone eight years ago. 

This day, though, this is perfect. I don't need a big church and 200 people and an expensive reception. I need Rick, Alex, and Jonathan. They're all I need to feel truly blessed. 

"Knock, knock." Jonathan raps on the doorframe, peeking around it. "Ready, old mum?"

"Just about." 

He rushes to me and envelopes me in a bear hug that nearly crushes me. 

"Jonathan, I can't breathe."

"Sorry." He puts me at arm's length. "Now, I warned O'Connell that if he hurts you, he'll have to answer to me. And I mean that."

"I know you do." Even if Jonathan could win in a fair fight against Rick, I suppose the important part is the sentiment. He really does mean it. "Don't worry. This is what we want. This is what we've always wanted."

"I know. You look beautiful, by the way."

"Thank you."

He holds out his arm. "Ready for this?"

I take it, nerves causing me to squeeze his hand a little tighter than I mean to. "Yep. Let's go."

I pick up my bouquet, a simple little thing consisting of yellow roses and more baby's breath that Jonathan procured at the market. We walk out through the small lobby, and Jonathan pushes open the heavy oak door. He's about to enter, but my feet are glued to the floor and I hold him back. 

"Touch nervous, Evy?"

"Just let me have a second."

I take a deep breath, studying the scene in front of me. It's a tiny church, only six or so rows of pews, and only half as wide as it is long. A few simple garlands have been hung, but other than that the room is bare. The minister stands near the altar, smiling and speaking with someone who is sitting in the front pew. 

My heart skips a beat as I realize it's my fiancé, soon to be my husband. My husband! The thought has never really scared me, but now it's all I can do to keep the butterflies from rising in my throat. I'm getting married. Oh, dear...

Rick turns in the pew and sees me, and I notice that Alex is sitting next to him. They both stand, and Jonathan begins to nudge me down the aisle. I think about protesting, but then Rick smiles at me, and...

And everything falls into place again. I'm getting married. The love of my life, the father of my child, everything. Today, my wedding day, this is everything. As a matching smile bubbles up to my own face, I realize why I fell in love with this man in the first place. I'm getting married!

In what seems like an instant, we've reached the end of the aisle. Jonathan kisses me on the cheek and pries the bouquet from my fingers. He passes me off to Rick and takes his place next to Alex a few feet away. Rick's hand replaces my brother's, and I clutch it as though it were my lifeline. As the minister begins to speak, most of his words are lost to my ears. Rick has caught my eye and I feel like I could never look away, so lost in the blue I nearly forget to reply when the minister asks me a question. 

"Do you, Evelyn Isabelle Carnahan, take this man, Richard Angus O'Connell, to be your lawful wedded husband, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, till death do you part?"

Death has never exactly stopped us before, but I agree anyway. "I do."

"And do you, Richard Angus O'Connell, take this woman, Evelyn Isabelle Carnahan, to be your lawful wedded wife, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, till death do you part?"

Rick grins at me. "I do."

We exchange rings, simple gold bands etched with delicate hieroglyphs that spell out the single word _love_. "By the power vested in me," finishes the minister, "I hereby pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride." 

Rick doesn't have to be told twice, though our first kiss as a married couple is brief to spare our relatives. They're just going to have to get used to it, though, because I plan on kissing this man for the rest of my life. My husband! I wonder how long it will take for it to sink in. 

As the minister presents us with the documents that make it official, Rick leans down and whispers in my ear, "I love you, Mrs. O'Connell."

I respond by kissing him, an embrace that goes on for quite a bit longer than the first one, till I hear a heavy sigh from behind us. 

"Aw, come on mum, are you two going to be doing that all the time?"

We're married. Married! I can't believe it's true. After eight years I had given up all hope of ever seeing Evelyn again, and now, after the most bewildering and trying week of my life, I'm finally married to the girl of my dreams. Not only that, but I have an amazing little boy for a son and a brother-in-law who has been a better friend than most people try to be and a better brother to Evelyn than anyone could hope for. I have a family, and they're perfect. 

We step out of the church into the sunlight and find Ardeth coming up the stairs. "Friends," he says, nodding in that serious way he has. "I've just heard the news."

"You just missed the wedding."

"Congratulations," says Ardeth, shaking my hand. "It's about time."

"I agree," I say. "Stay and eat with us."

"Oh, I have to get back--"

"Come on, Bey, you can take an hour out of your busy world-saving schedule to eat."

"We insist," Evelyn puts in, grabbing Ardeth's arm and pulling him in the direction of the restaurant. "After everything you've done for us, the least you can do is accept a meal."

Ardeth grumbles good-naturedly for a few more minutes, but eventually we manage to get everyone seated and ordered. Evelyn is on my left, my arm lying casually around her slim shoulders. We fit so easily together, so naturally familiar with each other, as if we've been sitting this way for years. I wonder what we'd be doing today if we'd been together all this time. Instead of getting married in Cairo, would we be back in London? Would we have more children? Would we have had to have gone through the recent ordeal with Imhotep in the first place? I shouldn't be speculating like this. Hell, maybe we'd all be dead. I'll never know, and I don't want to. All I care about is what I've got here. 

Evelyn's voice brings me back to the present. She's talking about archaeology, of course, replying to some question Ardeth asked her. "So I soon realized that the only field work that was available to me were expeditions I financed and led myself. Alex has spent every summer of his life in Egypt, being dragged around by his mum on some crazy trip or other. Of course, getting serious people to come with you is another issue altogether..."

Ardeth is looking like he regretted asking, but the waiter interrupts at that moment with our drinks. "Anyway," says Ardeth hurriedly, "we've just traveled back from the Oasis. Or, what used to be the Oasis."

Evelyn sips at her wine timidly. I'll have to remember to limit her to one glass. Tonight is definitely not the night I want her unconscious. "Is there any trace left at all?"

"None." Ardeth picks up his napkin, pulls at it with fidgety fingers. "Not even a blade of grass." 

"Did you..." I trail off. There's just no way to put this. "...lose many men?"

His eyes stay glued to the table, and he smoothes the edges of the napkin in his lap. "Nearly half."

We fall silent, all declarations of sorrow not seeming enough. After a few minutes, Jonathan raises his glass. "To the Medjai," he says. "Braver and better men than I could ever hope to be."

Everyone drinks, Alex his milk and Evelyn her entire glass of wine. "I wasn't sure I'd find you all alive and unharmed," says Ardeth. "For that I am very grateful."

I try to push the thought from my head that this isn't entirely true, and fill Evelyn's wine glass with water from the pitcher. "We couldn't have gotten Alex back without you. You're the one that should be thanked."

Ardeth waves his napkin. "What are friends for? Besides, now you owe _me_ a favor."

We all laugh, and the food arrives, so everyone is occupied for a while. I take the opportunity to study Evelyn as she eats. Her hair is pulled back and she's twisted some little white flowers into it. The dress is amazing, sort of shimmery and flowy. She looks at me mid-chewing, gives me this sly little half-smile like she knows I've been looking at her. "Something wrong with the food, darling?" she asks.

"Nothing. You're very beautiful, you know that?"

She grins. "I've been told once or twice."

I'd kiss her, but Jonathan and Alex are pretending to gag themselves with their spoons. "What are you, twelve?" I ask my brother-in-law. 

"I'm thirty-seven," says Jonathan. "And perfectly happy with myself, thank you very much."

"I'm eight," Alex declares solemnly. "I'm allowed to act like this. Uncle Jon has no excuse."

"Even so," says Jonathan, "we've got a bit of a surprise for you, Evy. Something the three of us worked out. A little trip. Give you two time to get the newlywed bug out of your system."

I jump in before Evelyn has a chance to reply. "I have to go home anyway to settle some things out before I can move to London. So we thought..."

"So we thought," pipes up Alex, "that both of you could go. We already called the Museum--"

"And got you the time off," interrupts Jonathan. "All you have to do is get on the plane to Morocco."

"Which leaves in two hours," I say, looking at my watch. "From there, the boat leaves tomorrow morning. Crossing is nine days."

"You'll be back in three weeks," finishes Alex. "Pretty neat idea, huh mum?"

Evelyn appears speechless. She sets her fork down with a clatter, causing her water glass to jump. It sends droplets of water all over the table and her dress, but she doesn't seem to notice. "I-but-you-how could-why--"

"How about, 'thank you ,boys, how thoughtful?'" says Jonathan. "you can protest all you want, baby sister, but you need a vacation and you two need some time alone together." He's heading off Evelyn's words before she even gets them out of her mouth. "You can too take time off work, you work too hard anyway. And don't worry about Alex and I. We can take care of ourselves for a couple weeks. You can call from Boston. Every hour if you want to. We'll be _fine_."

"I..." Evelyn looks to me, Alex, Jonathan, in turn. "I don't know what to say. That's so sweet of you to plan all that, but I couldn't--"

"Mum, you're going." Alex shovels some pasta in his mouth, talks with it entirely full. "Uncle Jon can take care of me."

"I'm sure you'll have a great time," his mother says dryly. "Just don't wake any mummies and I'll count the honeymoon as a success."

Satisfied with Evy's degree of acceptance of our little plot, everyone goes back to eating. I don't want to think about the trouble Jonathan and Alex are going to get into in the next three weeks, but it looks like Evy is formulating each and every possibility in her head, one after the other. We may have to drag her to the airport. 

"Sweetheart," I whisper, soft enough so that no one but Evy can hear, "you won't have time to worry. I'll keep you plenty busy."

My wife is so cute when she blushes. 

~*~*~*~

Reviews are like air....;)


	12. I Want Some Silly Love Poetry

It's been _months_! Sorry:( When it doesn't come, it doesn't come. But it's finally here! Also read "Photographs on the Mantel," that one is feeling very lonely:( Man, what's with all the sad faces? Smile! :):):):):)

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there were nights when the wind was so cold that my body froze in bed if i just listened to it right outside the window there were days when the sun was so cruel that all tears turned to dust and i just knew my eyes were drying up forever i banished every memory you and i had ever made but if i kiss you like this and if you whisper like that it was lost long ago but it's all coming back to me there were hours that just went on for days when alone at last we'd count up all the chances that were lost to us forever 

--"it's all coming back to me" celine dion

I have decided that I like being married. I like imagining what we're going to be like in ten years, twenty, fifty, where we'll be living and how many grandchildren we'll have. I like how the word "husband" rolls off my tongue as if I've been saying it for years. I like how safe I feel simply knowing he'll always be beside me at night, holding me. I like the way he kisses me when there's no one else around. I like the way he places his hand on the small of my back and guides me through doorways. I like belonging to someone. 

I also like how when he looks into my eyes, everything seems to fall away and I know that we are the only two people in the world for just a precious moment. He's looking at me that way right now, and I couldn't look away for the life of me. Those blue eyes were so vivid in my memory; they haunted my dreams for so many years, and now that they're here in front of me I can see that they haven't changed. 

I know he's different in other ways. We're not the same people we were eight years ago, but somehow the only thing that matters is that we never stopped loving each other. I don't think he's as quick to laugh now; he's quieter. I can't begin to know the things he went through while I was not with him, and I know that whatever life he's lived these past years has forced him to grow up somehow. 

"What are you thinking about?" Rick asks, and I'm broken from my spell. He reaches over and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and his hand lingers on my jaw for just a moment before falling back to its resting place on my pillow. I take his hand and lace my fingers through his before answering. 

"I was thinking about you," I say, "what else?"

He smiles that perfect smile of his. "Of course you were."

"All right, I'll tell you the truth. I was just wondering how Alex and Jonathan were getting by, and thinking that they'll probably burn the house down the moment they get back to London."

"Yeah, probably." He pulls his hand away and proceeds to kiss each of my fingertips, all the while holding my gaze. "Alex will keep his uncle in line."

"I hope so." We fall into silence again, another in a string of perfect moments. I can feel his heart beating, timed to match my own. It amazes me how easily we slipped into our roles as spouses, friends, lovers. It's as if we'd never been away from each other. "Do you remember the last time we were on a boat together?"

"I believe there were guns and fire and scary men with knives. Much less romantic."

"As I recall, the last time we were on a boat you threw me overboard."

"I was saving your life!"

"So then, if I fell overboard on this boat," I say, narrowing my eyes, "would you save me?"

"Hmm." He contemplates this for far too long, grimacing. "The water must be awfully cold..."

He heads off my half-hearted protest by kissing me, a tactic which I admittedly don't mind. "But I'd follow you anywhere," he murmurs. 

"What time is it, anyway?"

"Midnight," says Rick, picking up the bedside clock. "We've officially been married for half a day."

"Goodness, twelve whole hours. Sick of me yet?"

He grins. "Ask me in twelve years, maybe." I have a mind to punch him for that one, but I'm distracted when I notice that the sparkling blue of his irises matches the blue of the sheets. His skin is impossibly, perfectly tan, marred only by the angry red of a long, jagged scar across his chest. I hadn't realized how bad it was at the time. Just like him, not to mention whatever pain he was in. My fingers trace down his chest to his stomach, and the second scar. It doesn't look as bad, but we both know the consequence of that injury was far more acute than the scimitar wound. I drag my eyes from these reminders of the past and ask him, finally. "Why didn't you tell me how bad it was?"

"Wasn't important."

"You told me it was just a scratch."

"I didn't want to worry you."

"But you could have _died_, and I wouldn't have known a thing!"

"I didn't think you cared," he says softly, then seems to regret it. "Sorry. Didn't mean that. I shouldn't have..."

I can feel tears stinging my eyes, not for anything Rick has said, but for the time we've lost that we can never get back. Rick cradles my face in his hands, placing feather-light kisses on my lips. "Don't cry, baby. Please, don't cry." He teasingly kisses both my eyelids, drawing an involuntary giggle on my part and immediately drying my tears. I open my eyes to see his have lost their playfulness. It's almost terrifying how much like bliss it is to be caught in this quiet flash in the eye of a storm. I want to preserve the moment, and yet I just may go crazy in the stillness. A little thrill shoots all the way down to my toes as his mouth at last finds mine, a kiss so intense that I could swear my entire body has been consumed. 

Evelyn is asleep, and I hate to wake her, but our ship has docked and we have a train to catch. She sleeps like a brick, and if I let her she might stay unconscious 'til lunch. "Evy, wake up," I say loudly, but she just rolls over and covers her head with a pillow. "Evelyn, wake up," I try again. "Evelyn? Hello? We have to get going. Train leaves in an hour. Evy? We're in America. Docks? Land? Hello?"

As soon as I mention the word "land" she comes instantly, fully awake, stretching catlike across the bed with an expression of bliss on her face. "Not a moment too soon," she says, flinging away the covers. "I may just have had to throw _myself_ overboard if I'd spent another day on this blasted ship."

"We can leave as soon as you're ready."

She smiles and leans over me, kisses me languidly. "Morning," she breathes, and skips away to the bathroom. "Ah, land," I hear her say. "Never was there a more beautiful word."

I can hear her faint humming from the bathroom. I really must disagree with her on that last point, however. I'm not all that fond of the sea, either, and nine days is certainly more than enough time to spend out here, but the more beautiful word is undoubtedly "Evelyn." I have been married to Evelyn for nine days, and the list of things I love about her would already fill an encyclopedia. She's effortlessly brilliant, she moves with this perfect grace, she's constantly aware of everyone around her. She seems to know what I'm going to say before I say it. She's one of those women who's striking from afar, absolutely, but with every glimpse of her, every word that comes from her mouth, every breath, she seems to grow even more beautiful. She seemed so naive when I met her, but through some combination of brains and sheer guts she's able to triumph over anything or anybody you put her in front of. This will be my undoing, I'm sure, but I can't bring myself to care. Simply being in her presence gives me the willpower of a bug. Evelyn has somehow managed to wrap me around her little finger, and she's done it all with that innocent smile on her face. 

Evelyn lugs a heavy suitcase out from the bathroom and it tumbles to the ground. "Rick, would you carry this for me?"

"Absolutely, darling." As I pick up the bags I hear a snicker emanate from Evelyn's general direction. "Something funny?"

"No, no, not at all..." She laughs again, though I can tell she's trying to cover her mouth. "...'darling.'"

"What?"

"It's just that...I don't know," she says, shrugging her shoulders. "You've never called me 'darling' before. It sounds funny. Coming from you. The big tough adventurer spouting silly love poetry."

"I would hope any silly love poetry I would spout would be more eloquent than a simple 'darling.'"

She has that mischievous look in her eye now. Not good. "Let's hear it, then."

"What?"

"I want to hear some silly love poetry. Go on."

I take a moment to think, though my mind has suddenly gone completely blank. I set down the suitcases and walk toward her deliberately, pretending to form an answer, but really plotting to grab her and kiss her senseless. I think that will work just as well. 

"Hmm?" she says when I reach her, arching her eyebrows like she does. "I'm waiting, Mr. O'Connell."

My plan is suddenly stopped cold. Words come of their own accord. "Your eyes," I say, though I have no idea where it's coming from. They spill from my mouth without a corresponding thought in my head. "I've never seen eyes so deep. I look into them and I feel like I could drown, they're so full of life."

She blinks, seeming a bit shocked. "Well, it's not in iambic pentameter, but it'll do."

"You know what else I love about you?"

"What?"

"Your lips. Very kissable."

"Are they?"

Words no longer suffice where a kiss would work a thousand wonders, so I pick up with my 'kiss her senseless' strategy. 

"Rick?" she mumbles after a minute.

"Hmm?"

"Ditto."

~*~*~*~*~


	13. I Know Come Hither Eyes When I See Them

13: I Know Come-Hither Eyes When I See Them

__

when i was a child and didn't know any better i used to stare at the sun for minutes at a time and after a while the bright golden circle of the sun would melt away into the blue of the sky like i was looking at a deep blue sky within a sky someone asked me about her the other day and i found myself standing there describing her her eyes lost in the thought of her eyes such a deep deep blue like staring into the sun 

--"staring at the sun" anthony stewart head

I've traveled so much over the course of my lifetime, but it still always amazes me how much of a buzz I get from stepping into some foreign land. In all my wanderings I've never been to the United States before, and though I've only been in the country a matter of hours (most of it spent in a taxi cab or this blasted train car), I can already feel that fuzzy mythological idea of America encroaching on my disciplined mind. Probably it has more to do with the fact that we're _finally_ off the damn boat, and I can finally spend some time with my husband on dry land. I'm on my honeymoon! It's a rather giddiness-inducing situation, really. 

The train pulls into the station and the attendant announces we've arrived in Boston at last. Rick's cousin Robbie is supposed to meet us here and give us a ride to the house. 

We've just barely stepped off the train when we hear the call of "Rick!" from across the platform. "Rick, over here!"

A tall, burly man barrels his way through the crowd toward us, barely giving Rick a chance to say hello before crushing him in an overzealous hug. "Robbie," my husband chokes, "nice to see you." Robbie lets go of him and Rick makes an exaggerated gasp for air. "Run the office into the ground yet?" 

"Believe it or not, we did just fine without you." Robbie chuckles enthusiastically, slapping Rick on the back as if the hug torture had not been enough. He turns in my direction and notices me for the first time. "And who is this pretty lady?" he asks. His eyes twinkle with energy, and I'm suddenly hit with an image of Robbie in twenty years or so--he'll make a good Santa Claus. 

"Robbie Gardner," Rick says, slipping an arm around my waist, "meet Evelyn O'Connell."

Robbie's thick brow furrows in confusion, and his eyes flick back and forth between us. "You related?"

"As of nine days ago," I put in, offering my hand. "Rick's told me so much about you..."

"Wait a minute..." Robbie clicks the pieces into place and shakes my hand excitedly. "Did my little cousin go off and get married without telling me? Well I'll be damned, little Ricky has finally grown up! Oops, pardon my language, Mrs. O'Connell."

"Call me Evelyn, please."

"Wait a minute..." Robbie fixes Rick with a brotherly frown. "Is this _the_ Evelyn?" He turns to me, grinning broadly. "I'll be damned, you're _the_ Evelyn!"

"'_The_ Evelyn?'" I ask, getting a bit worried.   
Rick clears his throat. "Uh, I may have...mentioned you...once or twice."

"Once or twice?" cries Robbie. "From all I've heard, Evelyn, you're the woman of his dreams. Just don't break his heart again, all right? I'd hate to lose a cousin."

"What _exactly_ did he tell you about me?"

"Only a few things." Robbie pauses. "Mostly I heard stories of the beautiful librarian who stole his heart, seduced him, and swept out of his life quicker than you could say 'walking, talking corpse.' Not sure I ever really got that last reference."

"Private joke," I say. A lump has formed in the back of my throat and it's hard to talk around it. 

I focus the wrath of my eyes on Rick to take my mind off it. "You told people about me?"

"All good things," he defends himself. "You'll have plenty of time to dig up dirt on me later. Let's get out of here."

We retrieve our bags and head to Robbie's car, and I swear he doesn't stop talking for a straight ten minutes, not even to take a breath. "So," he says, as we finally are piled into the car and on our way, "how did you two meet up again?"

"Erm..." we both say, not sure how to respond. I suppose we'll have to tell this story a lot in the next few weeks, might as well get a rough draft hammered out now. "Rick, um, he happened to be in London, and, uh--"

"And I was in the neighborhood, and--"

"And there was a whole big issue with...um..."

"All right, all right!" Robbie says. "You two better get your story straight. Even a sharp guy like me is having trouble connecting those dots."

"Well," says Rick, "the truth is sort of that I came to England, happened to find Evy's house as it was being attacked by some evil henchmen--"

"Wait, wait," interrupts Robbie. "'sort of' the truth?"

"See, Evy had a vision about this thing called the Bracelet of Anubis, and the evil henchmen wanted it so they could raise this mummy so he could take over the world--which is the whole reason we met nine years ago--"

"Yeeeeeah," drawls Robbie, clearly not buying it. "Must have missed _that_ story."

Then Rick does something which takes both I and Robbie off guard. "Our son was kidnapped," says Rick. He says it proudly, no trace of regret or shame in his voice--these are the facts, he says with his tone, screw what anybody thinks of them. "It was somewhat of a crisis. Some very bad people messed with some very dark magic, and I almost lost more than I knew I had."

"Your..." trails Robbie. I don't blame him for being at a bit of a loss. "...Your son. I... Okay."

"His name is Alex. He's eight. What is it, January, January twenty..."

"Twenty-fourth," I supply. "His birthday, January twenty-fourth."

"I wasn't going to drop this on you right away," says Rick, "and I know it probably doesn't make any sense--"

"Rick," interrupts Robbie. "This is _me_ you're talking to here. If I do say so myself, Evelyn," he says, turning to me, "I don't believe I've ever seen Rick this radiant before. He looks positively on cloud nine. Willing to bet that's all your influence, little lady."

"You have no idea," Rick mumbles, pressing a kiss into my temple. "You have no idea."

We pull into a residential area, tree-lined streets of narrow, tall bricked homes with stone steps and expensive cars parked in tight paved driveways. Robbie pulls up behind a gleaming Bentley and fixes a pointed finger at Rick. "I don't mean to intrude on your honeymoon, pal, but you gotta stop by the office in the next few hours or I'll have a riot on my hands. The second I get there they'll know you're back in the country."

"Yeah, yeah," says Rick, pulling our luggage out of the back. "I'll be there in an hour." 

"Goodbye, Evelyn," calls Robbie as he backs out into the street once more. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"What's tomorrow?" I ask Rick as we wave and pick up the bags again. 

Rick shrugs. "Damned if I know. I'm sure they're planning something."

For the first time I take a good look at the apartment as Rick motions me up the walkway. The front door is painted red, a nice splash of color against the faded brick. I take in rows of floor to ceiling windows on every story, even some stained glass on the third floor. "It's not much," says Rick, grinning. He swings open the door, guiding me through it. "But it's home."

"It's beautiful."

"This is just the entryway, Evy."

"Where's the dog?"

"Addison is staying with my secretary, I'll pick him up later." We deposit the bags on the floor and Rick strides into the next room, empty except for a china cabinet at the far wall. "And this is the dining room. Empty, yes, but nonetheless a dining room."

"Shouldn't you have a table?"

"I don't have many dinner parties," Rick confesses. 

"It's a wonderful design choice," I tease. "A table would just clutter the space." 

He walks into the center of the room and turns around to face me. He starts talking about something or other, but I've stopped paying attention. He's so handsome when he smiles... It just lights up his whole face and reaches his eyes in a way so few emotions do. 

Now granted, I'm not the best conversationalist in the world, but the moment we step into the dining room my wife gets a very faraway look in her eye and stops paying attention all together. "Evy?"

She blinks, still a little dazed looking. "Hmm?"

"I think I lost you there."

"No, no, I'm just so enthralled by the sound of your voice..."

"Yeah," I say, taking a step backwards. "Kitchen's this way."

"Yes, but I'm over here. I can see the kitchen anytime." 

I know come-hither eyes when I see them, and I also know when I must resist or else I'll be doomed. "I have to go to work, you know," I say, attempting to reason with smoldering eyes and the gentle swaying of her hips as she walks toward me. "I'll be back in an hour, tops. Really. Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" She puts on her best pout. God, this woman is going to be the death of me. "You'd rather go to work than spend time with your wife? I hope this isn't the start of a trend."

If I stay here one more second I may never leave. "The quicker I go, the quicker I'll get back."

Evy's pout turns into a coy little half-smile, almost worse than the pout. "Oh, all right. Leave then, so I can start wishing you'd come back."

I manage to get out of the house without being ensnared by Evelyn again, though it takes willpower. Soon I pull into the parking lot of Jamilah Shipping, and realize I've driven the whole way without even thinking about driving. Thinking about Evy tends to push all other subjects to the background, I guess. 

The office nearly explodes when I walk in. Everyone is shouting and patting me on the back and asking questions. It's a little alarming, actually, a bit like being trapped in the middle of a stampede. Either I'm a good boss, or my employees are trying to kill me. "Staff meeting in five minutes!" I yell. "Big announcements, everyone needs to be there!"

Luckily Sherrie, my assistant, grabs hold of my arm and steers me into my office, away from the hubbub. Granted, her skirt is always a bit crooked and her hair is one big frizzy blond mess, but Sherrie reminds me a bit of Evy when she was younger--in a constant state of disarray, but brilliant to a fault, so somehow she makes whatever mess I get myself into work out okay. She's also the only woman I know who looks like a feather and yet somehow has the ability to defeat any man in the room in an arm wrestling match. She's been working for me for about four years now, and I don't trust anyone in the company, not even the managers, with stuff I trust Sherrie to handle. 

"Tell me all about London," says Sherrie the moment we're out of the crowd. "Did you spend the whole time working? Did you see Big Ben? Did you meet any pretty girls?"

I poke at the mass of hair on top of Sherrie's head. "What the hell is this about? Are you storing something up there?"

"It's the height of fashion," says Sherrie, giving me a malicious look. "Jesus, Rick, for your information, I didn't have time to do anything with it this morning. So sue me, is there some new office dress code I don't know about?"

"Nah. I don't know about London, but..."

She perks up, eyes narrowing suspiciously behind wire-rims. "London? What about London?"

"You have an uncle there or something, don't you?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Just wondering. So, I got married."

Her jaw literally drops, and she grabs my left hand. "Oh my God. Either you bought a really expensive ring just to play a joke on me, or you're telling the truth."

"I cannot tell a lie."

She looks at me blankly for a minute, deciding whether or not to believe me. "That's so wonderful!" she finally bursts out, giving me a hug to rival Robbie's in intensity. "Why didn't you bring her here? Afraid the wolves would tear her to shreds?"

"Yeah, I sort of like her. Wouldn't want her to meet you guys too early, might ruin things." 

"So what's it like to be married?" Sherrie, despite being one of the most down-to-earth women I know, by now has a dreamy look on her face. "How did you propose? How long have you known each other? Do I know her? Is she from here? Where did you meet?"

"Slow down, slow down," I say, sitting behind my desk and contemplating the unpleasant piles of paperwork stacked on it. "Her name is Evelyn Carnahan. We met about nine years ago, when I was still living in Cairo. We had a little..."

"Fling?"

"I suppose. As much as it's a fling when you're about to propose."

Sherrie looks horrified. "Oh my God, that's so sad! What, did she turn you down, and then you didn't see each other for nine years and suddenly met and fell in love all over again?"

"Are you telling the story or am I?" 

"Fine. You tell it." Sherrie plops down in the chair across from me and puts her chin in her hands, waiting patiently for the fairy-tale to unfold. "Go."

"I never proposed, actually. Didn't get a chance to. There was a...misunderstanding, I guess you'd call it. So we hadn't seen each since...I don't know, eighteen days ago."

Sherrie sighs. "Love at first sight, then? That's so romantic."

"Well, sort of. Not really. Complications abounded. It all worked out."

"How did you propose?"

I shift in the chair, suddenly realizing how inadequate the proposal really was. "Er...well...we were on a cargo plane..."

Sherrie's face drops a bit. "And..."

"And I...I just said, 'Marry me, would you?' and that was it."

"Well, that's... God, Rick, did you at least have an engagement ring?"

"Erm...no. She didn't seem to mind!" I defend myself. "After all, she did accept."

Sherrie looks like she doubts the latter statement, but lets the matter go. "So what's this rumor I hear about you moving to London?"

"Did Robbie tell you that?"

At the innocent question her cheeks redden. "No! What makes you think I talk to Robbie? He doesn't talk to me!"

I eye her suspiciously, trying to determine what it is she won't tell me. She's been acting like this when it comes to Robbie for a while now, and I can't for the life of me figure out what the hell is going on. "Is there something you want to tell me about you and Robbie?"

"No!" she cries, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Now are you taking me to London or not? I'd expect a raise. And I've been thinking that I want my own office. Maybe you should give me a promotion. Or at least give me more power."

"That would be scary."

She sticks her tongue out, and it occurs to me that Sherrie is less like a secretary and more like an incredibly annoying little sister. I can't imagine what devious plans she and my wife could cook up together. I _am _doomed.

~*~*~*~ :)

I think Sherrie and Robbie might be cute together...do I smell a spin-off? Interested? ;)


	14. Just a Tiny Corner of her World Seemed t...

Little-bitty CoaG reference in this chap:) It wouldn't be a Buffelyn story without that ring...:):):)

14. Just a Tiny Corner of her World Seemed to Melt

__

well you may not see me when you come by i could be sharing someone else's pillow and my love for you is better than diamonds to you everything i bestow and tomorrow i'll be dancing on my own and i'll need a kiss for my head that's aching and i'll be a hungry dog without a bone hoping my place with you's not taken kiss me and tell me it's not broken kiss me and kiss me'til i'm dead

--"everything i bestow" mundy

I decide to make myself useful in Rick's absence and tidy up. I guess he had no idea how long he'd be gone, but from the looks of the place he left in a hurry. The plants are dying, the newspaper on the counter dates to nearly a month ago, and there are unwashed dishes in the sink. Apparently he doesn't have a housekeeper, despite the size and affluence of the space. I take a self-guided tour of the house, noting various things as I go. Pictures on the walls, mostly of people I've never seen, except for Robbie. Tastes in furniture, decor, though I'm willing to bet a lot of it came with the house. 

I peek into what I presume to be his study, a room that usually seems too private to enter, but on the desk... Is that my name on a piece of paper? I step into the room, notions of privacy gone. "Evy" is written down on a little square sheet of blue paper, scrawled across the top in heavy pencil lead. Below it, my London address, phone number, and the information for the Museum and Jonathan's place as well. Rick did his homework, apparently. 

The clothes I purchased in Cairo before we left town were inadequate to say the least, and I'm dying to get out of these travel clothes. I select a pair of big comfy pajamas from Rick's drawers. He won't mind. The moment I can I'll have to go shopping. 

A beautiful view greets me out the bedroom window when I pull open the curtains. It's like a courtyard in the back, sort of a communal yard that all the buildings on this block share, apparently. It is deserted save a woman sauntering along the sidewalk. She is blond, her hair cut in one of those annoying little bobs that would make me look like a boy, but just make her look gorgeous. Her clothes, too, are entirely too fancy to be wearing on a daily basis--and who wears_ that_ much jewelry? The woman looks like a walking nightmare. 

And...and she's headed straight for the house. 

What is she doing? She's got a key in her hand... What the...God! She's in the house. The strange blond woman has entered the back door. If she wasn't so flimsy-looking I'd be scared, but as it is I'm just angry. Furious, in fact. How many women have keys to Rick's home? _My_ home, technically! I will go confront The Blond Bitch and tell her to get the Hell out of my house!

I take the stairs two at a time and bound through the kitchen doorway. She doesn't notice me; she's leaning against the counter, checking her teeth in a little pocket mirror. I pull out the sharpest tone I can manage. "Who are you?"

The Blond Bitch spins around, her heavily-lined eyes wide. She considers my question for a moment, clears her throat, and draws herself up to her full high-heeled height. "Tess MacIntire. Who the Hell are you?"

I decide to ignore her question. "How did you get in?"

"I have a key." She waits, seeing how I'll react. I struggle to keep my face straight, seething with loathing for The Blond Bitch. I hide it well, and my patience is rewarded. "Calm down," she says finally, seeing that she won't get a rise out of me that easily. "I've been watering the plants while Rick was away. You startled me, I didn't realize he was..." Her eyes flicker up and down, judging my presence as trivial with a mere glance. "...Seeing someone."

My state of undress suddenly hits me as I realize I never quite got around to the pajama pants. I pretend nothing is wrong. "Hmm. Funny that he didn't mention it." 

"I heard he had some news." Tess laughs, a sparkling, tinkly sound that would be charming if it weren't so obviously fake. "Am I to assume you are it?"

"Hard to say. I suppose it's not every day one gets married."

Her face falls visibly and she flutters her eyelids a few times, apparently trying to comprehend my words. "What?"

"I guess it was rather sudden, we've only just begun to announce it. I can't blame you for being taken aback. Are you two close?"

It takes her a moment to form words. Take that, Blond Bitch! "Um...yes. Closer than close. I can't believe he didn't tell me he was getting married."

Oh, so that's how she wants to play it, huh? "Yes, I'm sure he'll miss you terribly."

"Miss me?" Her eyes do that fluttery thing again. "I hope you won't object to your husband and I being friends."

"No, no, it's just that we'll be living in London, and you know how it is--"

"London? That's...where you're from." 

"Yes." I can feel the hatred seeping out of my eyes, and she takes a step back. "And Cairo. Where Rick and I met."

"I thought his business trip was to London."

"No, I mean originally. Years ago." I'm banking on the fact that Rick was, indeed, telling me most of the truth when he said he hadn't seen anyone very seriously, for if Tess is telling the truth she'd probably know. Anyway, I hope that the women my husband dated in the last nine years were of higher caliber than this hussy. "We're on our honeymoon, actually, and it's back to London in three days."

"Where is Rick?" Tess asks. "I thought he was home."

"No, he went to work for a while. I'll certainly tell him you stopped by, though." Yeah I will, but with slightly less polite phrasing. "Oh, and I'll just take the spare key. Since we're selling the house and all..."

The Blond Bitch hesitates, then pastes that saccharine smile on her lips and drops the key into my outstretched hand. "Of course. Tell Rick I said...hello." She turns and sashays out the back door, tossing a homicidal glance over her shoulder as she goes. The girl has no subtlety, honestly. 

Nearly four hours later I let myself quietly into the house, still wracking my brain for some sort of excuse. An hour, tops. Yeah, right, Rick. Either Evelyn is going to be pissed, or she'll be incredibly understanding, which will just make me feel worse. Luckily for me I find her asleep on the couch, wearing my pajamas, blanket wrapped around her, book open. I carefully pry the book away and ease myself onto the couch. 

Her eyes open gradually, frame by frame, as if in slow motion. "Allo," she says, stretching her arms out over her head. "How was work?"

"Mile a minute excitement."

Her arms fall leisurely around my shoulders. It amazes me how easily she seems to use me as a human pillow. "I met one of your friends."

"Did you?" I search for a name, but can come up with none who she could possibly have met in the last four hours. "Who?"

"Tess. You two close?"

"She's my neighbor. That's sweet of you, though."

"I was _not_ jealous." Evy looks intently at the empty space beyond my head, a sure sign that she's lying. 

"Didn't say you were."

"She's a complete and utter bitch."

"My, my, you kiss me with that mouth?"

"I've never heard any protest. Besides, it's just your influence rubbing off on me." Her eyes are by now fully focused back on me, and they look a little irked. "What took you so long?"

"I'm so sorry, honey. A lot of sh...stuff went on while I was away. Got most of it cleared out, but I might have to go in for a couple more hours sometime in the next few days. Sherrie'll pack up my stuff, though. She's bringing Addison back tomorrow morning. And we hired movers."

"Are you...okay, still? With moving, and all?"

"No question. It was time for a change of scenery, anyway." 

"You're not quite so charming as you think you are, you know."

I stand quickly, taking her with me. "Come on. I got you a present."

She looks wary, but follows me out of the living room and up the stairs. "What is it?" she asks slyly, fingers tickling up and down my arm as we climb. 

"Something I never quite got around to giving you nine years ago."

This piques her interest, but she doesn't say anything more, just looks slightly worried. We reach the third floor landing and the bedroom. I instruct her to sit. "Just let me find it," I say, rummaging through my sock drawer. Why is it we always keep precious things in sock drawers? Occasionally I would run across the little box while searching for various things. Each time I found it again, I'd think of all the possibilities. I could throw it away. Sell it. Donate it. Look up Evelyn's address and get rid of it, finally. She'd recognize its origin, know it was me who'd sent it. I'd always toss the box back in the drawer, vowing to forget for good this time, forget everything. In all those lonely years, I never realized how much I wanted to _remember_. 

My hand closes around the little box. I've found it again. This is the first time I've ever gone looking for it. It's an old-fashioned little gilded box, with a snap that reveals a halved top. Evy's brow knits up when she sees it. She's quite unsettled now. "What's in there?" she asks, and I unsnap the top of the little box and kneel in front of her. 

"Recognize this?" I say, and the ring inside the box glints in the light. Sparking clear in the center, flanked by little blue dots of gemstone. Just the same as it's looked for thousands of years. 

"That looks like..." I can see the gears of the scholar's mind turning, dating the jewelry. "That's from Hamunaptra. My God, have you kept it all this time?"

"It was always meant to be given away. Never got the chance to, but I could never bring myself to get rid of it. I'd forgotten about it, actually, until I was telling Sherrie the story of my awful proposal--"

"Beautiful," she interrupts. "It was beautiful."

"Still, I wish I'd had this with me." I slide the ring on her finger. It looks just like I thought it would, though there's no room for it on the originally intended finger. It looks like it fits where it is, with Evelyn--like it belongs with her. "I really am sorry about the plane. Inexcusable."

"No, no, no. Perfect." Evy settles into my arms, and I flash back to a desert night, as my mind often does when I hold her so close. The split-second thought that she was dead had ripped through me like a speeding train had torn straight through my heart. She was fine, breathing, alive, but somehow the realization of that moment made my own life swerve irreversibly off-track. Her eyes had seen straight through me like they always did, but just a tiny corner of her world seemed to melt in that moment. The walls she so carefully guarded crumbled, and in her eyes were shades of something entirely new, vulnerable and strong and terrified all at the same time. And suddenly, in that single moment, I wanted to be the person, that one person, who she'd tear down those walls for. With my arms around her, I became that person, the only person in the world who got to see that look in her eyes. 

~*~*~*~

Only one more lovey-dovey honeymoon Boston chapter, I promise. Then it's back to London and much angst...maybe. Ideas floating around my head... Bwahahahhahahahahahhahaha........


	15. Jamilah

So sue me, I stole the design of Evy's dress from Jackie and J-lo. Beautiful dress, I must say :)

__

i just want someone to say to me baby i'll always be there when you wake though i'd like to keep my cheeks dry today so stay with me and i'll have it made and i don't understand why i sleep all day and you know that i start to complain that there's no rain and all i can do is read a book to stay awake and everyday it rips a little of my life away but it's a great escape and everyday we need it

--"no rain" blind melon

I had no idea dogs could hold such a grudge. 

Although Addison seemed very pleased to meet me (he nearly knocked me down in his enthusiasm, in fact), he appears quite upset with Rick. My husband has been trying to get Addison to acknowledge him for the past ten minutes with no luck. The poor dog looks quite offended and has plopped down on his flannel bedding, refusing to budge. 

"Well, what did you expect?" asks Sherrie. "You abandoned him for an entire month!"

"I'm sorry, Addy," says Rick pleadingly. "It was a matter of life and death. You understand..."

Addison simply glares. Rick sighs. 

"Well," says Sherrie, grabbing my arm, "we'll leave the boys to their foolishness. I hear you are in need of some serious shopping."

"Oh, but--"

"Go!" cries Rick. "Have fun. Gossip. Bring Addison back something." He leans toward me, kisses me lightly on the ear. "Don't let Sherrie drive too fast."

"I heard that, O'Connell," snaps Sherrie, pushing me toward the front door. "The movers are coming at eleven, and the guests are coming at seven. And for God's sake, clean this place up."

Rick rolls his eyes and returns his attention to Addison. Sherrie and I quit the house and climb into her rather antique-looking vehicle. "What a lovely, um, car," I say, telling myself that Rick would certainly not let me ride in it if it where as close to falling apart as it looks. 

"It's a beaut', isn't it?" Sherrie's eyes gleam as she turns the engine. "Classic. Collectors would kill for this car."

"You sound like my brother. Adores anything on wheels."

Sherrie's car spurts and sputters out onto the main road. "Older or younger?"

"Oh, Jonathan's five years older. He barely acts it, though."

She clucks sympathetically. "I have four older brothers. Sure put me through the wringer. But it's nice to have four men in your life who'd kick someone's ass for you if you asked."

I smile, thinking of my own four protectors. "Do they live around here?"

"Some of them." Sherrie spots her exit and we veer off onto it. "Dan and Joe are just outside the city, but Dave's up in New York and Jack's in London with my uncle."

"Have you ever been to England?"

"Nah." Sherrie pulls into a parking lot and her car dives into a space just ahead of another vehicle. "I've been thinking about moving, lately, though. Don't know if I could stand to stay at Jamilah with Rick gone; I don't think I could work as Robbie's assistant."

We exit the car and make our way toward the department store. "Why not? He seemed very nice."

I think she blushes a bit at this, but I have the sense not to press the matter. "Oh, sure. Yeah, I just... I don't know. Hey, look, here we are. You'll die for their shoes, this store is just great."

We find the shoe section in silence, Sherrie leading the way. I can see why Rick depends on her so much. She's like a very tightly controlled hurricane, liable to demolish those in her path but strangely pulled together when the occasion demands. I'll have to investigate this thing with Robbie further, when I get to know her a little better. For now, though, Sherrie cleverly turns the conversation and puts me in the tough spot instead. "So," she says, "life or death matter, huh? Sounds exciting."

I study the boot I've picked up carefully, avoiding Sherrie's eyes. "Um...yes. You could say that."

"I don't mean to pry...lovely boot, by the way, you should try that on...Rick said something about a cargo plane, but that was pretty much it."

I set down the boot. It's not really my style. "I guess the plane was a rather important detail. Oh, look at this one. I like the heel."

"Red, hmm? How daring. Now, personally, I don't know if a proposal on a cargo plane would have done it for me..."

"You're not going to let this go, are you?"

She gives me her brightest smile. "Evy--can I call you that?--you might as well tell and get it over with, or all sorts of rumors will start flying. Think of me as damage control."

We move out of the shoes and into the endless racks of clothes. "It's a rather long story, you know. You really don't want all the details; you wouldn't believe most of them. I guess what's relevant starts after all that, anyway..."

"You're not making much sense, Evy. Oh, you must come and look at these blouses."

"It wasn't like anyone meant it to happen. And it was my own damn fault, anyway. Who knows where we'd be now if I hadn't been so stupid about the whole thing."

"Again with the cryptic."

"Sorry. It's just that... I don't even know where to start. I suppose it suffices to say that Rick just showed up in London one day and it wasn't long before we figured out we both wanted to pick up where we left off. Like nothing happened. _Everything_ had happened, of course, but somehow it's not like that with him. It's like we've never been apart."

Sherrie claps her hands together. "That's wonderful! What's it like to be married? Are you completely sick of him yet? Do you think you'll have children?"

"I think Rick should get used to the one he has before we start talking about more." Wait. Oops. "Oh. Um... Has Rick..."

Sherrie looks a bit confused. Don't blame her at all. Damn it. "Um, mentioned any children? No, he hasn't. Something else you want to tell me, dear?"

"Erm. We sort of...have a...son."

Sherrie's mouth falls open but she quickly closes it. "What's his name?"

"Alex. He's just turned eight."

"Wow." Sherrie hands me a skirt. "This cut would look lovely on you. Rick didn't give me the impression you two knew each other so...well, back then."

"He didn't know, about Alex." I feel the sudden overwhelming need to defend my husband; I don't want his reputation to face the same firing squad my own suffered through so many years ago. "When he left Cairo, I didn't have any idea, either. Somehow we just...missed each other. If he hadn't gone to the U.S. he would have lost his family's estate, and he wanted me to come with him... Some things just don't work out, no matter how much you want them to."

"They seem to have worked out all right, actually." Sherrie pats me on the arm, and it occurs to me that I may have found a friend. "When you two talk about each other you get this...I don't know..." She waves her arms, which are filled with clothes. "You get this tranquility about you. Like you know everything is just right, complete." She hands me another skirt, this one dark blue. "So what's Alex like? I bet he's an absolute terror, like his father. Rick tells me you're an Egyptologist, does Alex go along with you on digs and such? It's so wonderful when families can share stuff like that..."

Sherrie continues to ask questions as we shop, and she doesn't seem to mind that not all of them get answered. Somehow I don't mind either. It's just nice to have a friend for once. 

By the time seven o'clock rolls around, I'm ready for the party to get over with already, and I haven't even gone downstairs. This whole farewell celebration was Sherrie's idea. Though I will miss most of my employees, the rest of Boston society I could do without. Elite clientele have their advantages, but frankly I find the whole lot unbearable. Maybe they'll be better in London, but I doubt it. 

Speaking of Brits, for all my indifference, my wife is apparently 100 times as nervous. She's been locked in the bathroom for fifty-four minutes by my watch. "You sure you're okay in there?" I call. 

In response she throws open the bathroom door, looking very pissed off. "I can't find the earrings Sherrie lent me! Where the hell are the earrings?!"

"They're on the dresser, sweetheart, take a deep breath."

"Aaaargh!" Evy crosses the room and snatches the little dangly earrings from the dresser. "I thought I was going _insane_. I haven't been to a fancy party like this for ten years, I forgot how much I _hate_ them."

"Amen, sister. If it's any consolation, though, you'll be the most beautiful woman in the room."

"Sure it's not just the dress?" Evy scrutinizes said dress in mirror. The fabric falls over one shoulder nearly to the floor, and there's a twirly line of beads along the edge. "I really feel more comfortable in black."

Despite Evy's concerns, I'm now entirely sure that seafoam green is my new favorite color. I kiss her bare shoulder and see a little shiver run through her. "The dress isn't nearly as beautiful as the woman wearing it."

She gives me that 100-watt smile I was looking for. "Well," she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me away from the mirror, "you should see the one I got for _later_. You'll really like that one. Let's go meet your friends now, darling."

"Wait, wait, wait." I stop her on the third floor landing. I can hear the din of annoyingly early party-goers from below us. "What color is the other one?"

I love it when I can make her blush. "Can't you stand a surprise? Why aren't you wearing the tie I picked out?"

"Don't change the subject, sweetie."

"Then don't ask questions you won't get answers to, muffin." Evy begins the trek down the stairs, successfully having beaten back my curiosity. "Now is there anything I should know about any of these people before I walk among them?"

"If some old guy introduces himself as Teddy Roosevelt, smile politely and walk away. And stay away from the secretaries from the office. They'll trap you for hours. If you're ever in trouble, look for Sherrie or me or Robbie, we'll pull you out of there."

"You make it sound like a war."

"Just smile. Donald!" 

As soon as we reach the main floor Donald Something-or-Other from the accounting firm approaches. "Rick!" he cries, shaking my hand, eyeing my wife. "Glad you're back in town, there's some things I'd like to discuss with you--"

"Why don't you call the office Monday and we'll have something set up, this is my wife Evelyn, but I have to get her to the other side of the room, so I'll see you Monday Donald."

Donald smiles and nods like he understands perfectly, and Evy and I escape the first sand trap. "Impressive," Evy mutters. "You have practice at this."

"The trick is never to pause. Oh look, actual people. Hey, Robbie."

"Mr. and Mrs. O'Connell," Robbie nods, winking. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go find Sherrie."

Robbie takes his leave and I turn to the other members of the little group. "Sweetheart, I want you to meet some people. Daniel Worthingham, John Quinn and his wife Wanda. Daniel works in sales; John and I went to school together."

Everyone exchanges 'pleased-to-meet-you's and 'how-do-you-do's, and eventually they goad Evy into telling the 'how-we-met' story. Again. I hear it or tell it in various abridged versions a million times throughout the night. As the hours drag on, Evy and I get separated so I'm not entirely sure what sort of hell she herself has gotten into, but I for one am _really_ ready for the party to be over now. Jesus, I'm sick of these gatherings. 

What seems like an eternity later (including a string of painful and slightly drunken speeches from my coworkers), there are few enough guests remaining that I can escape to the kitchen. Evy is already there, sitting on a counter and holding a glass of champagne. "What lovely friends you have, darling," she says, handing me the glass. "That was the most fascinating evening of my life."

"You had fun too, huh? I lost track of you, where'd you run off to?"

She pulls me to her, resting her head on my shoulder. "I got help up listening to drunken recountings of stories you probably didn't want me to hear. Has everyone left yet?"

Before I can reply we hear a shout from the living room. "Just stay away from me!" someone cries, tears in their voice. "I'm sick of this, just don't talk to me!"

"Sherrie, don't act like that, I didn't--"

We hear a door slam, open, then shut again. Evy raises her eyebrows. "Was that Robbie's voice I heard? What's going on with those two?"

"Beats me. Sherrie's been acting strange for months."

Evy gives me a very dangerous look. "We may have to do some matchmaking..."

"Oh, leave them alone. Good things come to those who wait. It'll work itself out in the end."

"Good things, huh? I guess everything worked pretty well for us, didn't it?"

"You know, it occurs to me that we've just passed the halfway mark. Our honeymoon is half over."

She sets about straightening my collar, nervous fingers finding something to do. She's about to ask me something, something she's been thinking about, I can tell. "So...the name of your company is Jamilah. Jamilah Shipping."

"Yeah. _Beautiful_ in Arabic."

"I know. You used to...I mean, I don't know if you remember, but...you used to call me--"

"I remember." I remember one sunny, happy day in Cairo when she was pushing me out the door of the library, claiming she'd never get any work done if I was around. 'Farewell, _Jamilah_,' I'd called as I left. Evy didn't speak much Arabic but even if she didn't know the word she'd look it up. I'd called her 'Beautiful' all along, but Jamilah became her special nickname, one that was just hers and always would be. "I couldn't very well name my company after a girl outright, people would look at me funny," I say. "Customers like it when I tell them it's named after a lost love, though. It's all mysterious and tragic."

"Not so tragic of a story anymore. I may have ruined your business."

"Eh, that's okay. It sounds better when I can tell people it's named after my wife." 

"Well you'd better, _Jamil_, I own half of it now." She hops off the counter and goes to the kitchen door, peeking around it to see if the guests are finally all gone. "You do know that I married you for your money, right?"

"I had a sneaking suspicion. I hope you can learn to love me, too."

She grins again, looking as beautiful as the day I met her. "Too late," she says, "I already do," and disappears behind the swinging door, leaving me to follow.

~*~*~*~

Tee hee. Hints and plot set-ups abound . . . we'll see ? . . . ;)


	16. Arnaud and Renaud Greet Their Friends at...

Nah, the dress from the Oscars, that Jackie Kennedy also wore years ago. The _other_ green dress would be a bit risqué for Evy, don't you think? ;)

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sometimes i can't move my feet it seems as if i'm stuck in the ground somehow like a tree as if i can't even breathe and oh my screams come whispering out as if nobody can even see me like a ghost sometimes i can't see myself sometimes i feel lost as i pull you out like strings of memories wish i could weave them into you then i could figure the whole damn puzzle out then tell me what in world i would sing for

--"if i had it all" dmb

Being back in London brings mixed emotions. I'm sad that the honeymoon is over, but in a way I'm eager to start this life, this new, terrifying experience we've signed up for. What we do in these next few hours, days, weeks, will change the course of all our lives. 

The apartment suddenly seems very tiny with four people and a dog running around it. And Alex and Rick don't seem to be speaking much. I mustn't rush them. They'll get there in their own time. 

I hope. 

Jonathan and Alex decided to take Rick to the grocery store, so I have been left alone here with Addison. The dog likes me well enough, but he won't follow my commands. I tell him to sit, he barks, I tell him to stay, he tries to shake hands. He won't even come when I call him, preferring instead to tilt his golden head and contemplate me as if I were insane. Right now he's draped across the luggage piled in the front hallway like it's the most comfortable spot in the world to take a nap.

"Come on, Addison, I need to unpack that bag. Could you get up, please?"

Addison simply gives me a look. _No, you crazy lady,_ he seems to be saying,_ I'm trying to nap._

"I'll give you a treat! Want a biscuit? Mmm, biscuit...come on. Yummy."

If he could, I'm sure Addison would sigh grudgingly right about now, as he stands and ambles off into the living room. He didn't take the biscuit but at least he got up. I lug the heavy bag to my bedroom (_our_ bedroom) and unzip it. It's Rick's luggage, from Boston, but all manner of both of our belongings have been crammed inside. I'll have to do some ironing. 

Addison yelps from across the apartment. Now what? I'm not sure I like having a dog. Addison seems to be very high maintenance. 

He sits in the living room, waiting for me expectantly, head low. He whines. _Sorry, crazy lady, I really am. I didn't mean to pee on your carpet. I'll be real good from now on._

Grrr. Dogs! 

When I walk into the kitchen Alex is sitting at the table, papers and books surrounding him. He looks up and says, "Hi, Rick."

"Hi. Um..." How exactly does one converse with eight year-olds, much less long-lost eight year-old sons? "What are you working on?"

He makes a face. "French."

Oh thank God. At least it's not ancient Egyptian. This, I can handle. "Depuis combien de temps avez-vous étudié français?" *

Now he looks very suspicious. "Parlez-vous français?"

"Un peu."

"Would you..." His eyes flit toward the empty chair next to him. "...help me with it?"

"Sure." I sit and glance at the French textbook. "So, three languages, huh? Pretty impressive for the fifth grade."

"It was mum's idea." Alex taps his pencil on the notebook. "Where'd you learn French?"

"Foreign Legion."

"No way! You were in the French Foreign Legion?!" So much for homework. "That is so cool! What was it like?"

"Well, I really wouldn't recommend it."

"I want to be a fighter pilot, in the RAF," he informs me proudly. "Or an explorer." He thinks very hard about this. "Or prime minister. Or maybe a baseball player. I haven't decided yet."

"You've got plenty of time, I think."

Evy comes into the kitchen, stopping short when she sees us sitting there. "Oh. Hello, boys. What are we working on?"

"French," we reply in unison. 

"Rick, you sp--" Evy stops herself. "How nice. You've got five minutes, Alex, and you know you have to get up early tomorrow--"

"I know, Mum, I know." Alex picks up the pencil again, preparing to appear studious. "I'm doing homework."

She smiles and leaves the kitchen. Something's bothering her, she told me with her eyes without meaning to. I realize Alex has said something. "What?"

"Arnaud et Renaud saluent leurs copains à l'aéroport. So, in past tense, it'd be..." Alex looks to the ceiling, translating in his head. "Arnaud et Renaud ont salué leurs copains à l'aéroport. Right?"

"Oui. Spell salué for me."

"Es, ah, elle, ooh, euh, accent egu." I nod my approval and he grins. "Score one for Alex."

"You're an old pro at this. Know a fourth language by chance?"

He shrugs, packing up his homework. "Mum said something about starting heratic soon. She says I've a knack."

"Apparently."

"Well." He slings his backpack over his shoulder. "Goodnight, then. See you in the morning."

"Yeah. Night."

He pauses for a moment, waiting for something, but then turns and hurries out of the room. Jesus, this is difficult. At least neither of us really know what we're doing. Evy seems to be very nervous about the whole thing, but I think it's going rather well. Especially considering my relationship with my own father was... Well, not idyllic. I guess the difference was, we never got past the part where we parted ways. 

The exhaustion of traveling suddenly weighs heavy, and sleep sounds like heaven. It's impossible to get lost in this little apartment, but it takes me a while to navigate the bathroom. Lord, you'd think Evelyn wore more makeup than Cleopatra, there's so much crap in the medicine cabinet. I clear a small space on the top shelf and set my toothbrush there. Small victories, Rick. Small victories. 

The mattress is too fluffy, but at least I thought to pack my own pillow with my first stage of luggage. The unfamiliarity makes me feel like I'm staying in a hotel, staring at a ceiling that isn't mine, wondering if I'll remember where I am in the morning. 

Evelyn pulls aside the covers (I've already learned that she's a cover-hog) and takes her half of the bed. Her presence makes it feel more like home. "Alex is sound asleep," she says. "Addison was in there, too, I didn't have the heart to wake him."

"Just don't let him on the bed, or he'll never leave."

I can hear Evelyn take a deep breath--her strategy, I've discovered, for pauses in conversation. "Alex is happy we're back. I think he's...happy you're here."

"I'm happy I'm here, too. Is something bothering you?"

She rolls over, facing me. "Did you learn French in the Legion?"

"Yeah. And in school. And in Morocco."

Her eyes flit about like they do when she doesn't want to look at me. "I can't believe I didn't know that." 

"It's not a big deal. Tell me something little that I don't know about you."

Her eyes show some interest now. A mystery to be solved. "Um... Guess what I wrote my thesis on?"

"If it isn't the Book of the Dead I'll be completely shocked."

She laughs. "God, no. I was over that. It was about Menes, the uniter of Lower and Upper Egypt."

"_Fascinating_, Dr. O'Connell, do tell me more."

"Well, he built Memphis and Crocodilopolis, and legend has it he was killed by a hippopotamus after reigning for sixty years. It's only thirty-four pages long, darling, you'll have to read it."

"I can't wait." 

"By the way, you can have more of the medicine cabinet for your stuff." She yawns, snuggling further under the covers. "I need to clean it out anyway." 

"How thoughtful of you. We're going to need a bigger place, you know."

"Yeah," she mumbles. I love her voice just before she falls asleep, heavy and light at the same time. "You think maybe we could have a yard?..."

She's asleep now, I can feel it in her breathing, but I answer anyway. "Anything you want."

~*~*~*~

Forgive my French:)~

__

*How long have you been studying French?

You speak French?

A little.

Arnaud and Renaud greet their friends at the airport.

Arnaud and Renaud greeted their friends at the airport.


	17. No Closer to Any of my Dreams

Heh heh. Yeah, that was an exceedingly long time between postings. Terribly sorry. "...and do pronounce by me lingering perdition, worse than any death could be at once, shall step by step attend you and your ways, whose wraths to guard you from......" Yep, I've been _busy_:):):)

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no one knows what it's like to be the bad man to be the sad man behind blue eyes no one knows what it's like to be hated to be fated to telling only lies but my dreams they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be i have hours only lonely my love is vengeance that's never free no one knows what it's like to feel these feelings like i do and i blame you no one bites back as hard on their anger none of my pain and woe can show through

--"behind blue eyes"

I feel a strange trepidation at returning to the Museum after a month away, but I can't pinpoint the reason. Is it my drastically changed personal life (how on earth will I explain it?) or simply the thought of returning to work, or something else? Nearly five years I've been working at the British Museum, and I am no closer to any of my dreams than I was when I started in the library. I'm a promotional director for the Egyptian wing, but I've seen many coworkers come and go (mainly to more prestigious positions within the Museum or on the Bembridge board). I've given up sending applications to Bembridge. If they wanted me by now, they'd ask. They don't.

I hear the voice of Dr. Mike Herman calling to me from down the hall. He and his wife Sadie work in collections, and they've always been exceedingly nice to me even as others turned away. "Evelyn!" he calls, striding toward me. "We've all missed you so terribly, things are just falling apart around here without you."

"I'm sure they are," I say, kissing him on the cheek. "Don't worry, I'm back to save the day."

"I hear you got married?" he asks, grinning. "Whose the lucky chap? And why wasn't I invited?"

"Oh, we were married in Cairo, just family. It was quite small."

"And sudden!" Mike chuckles. "I had no idea you were heading in that direction. Who is the fellow? Not that administrator whose been following you around lately? Or is it Daniel? He's always had a soft spot for you, you know. Come on, do I even know him?"

"Uh, no. He's from Boston; his name is Rick O'Connell."

"How did you meet then, Mrs. O'Connell?" 

I can feel my cheeks reddening. Shouldn't I be over this humiliation, this shame by now? Have I not become as immune as I had thought? "A shared love of Egypt, I suppose," I say, wondering not for the first time how to put this delicately. But what am I to do, hide? "He's Alex's father."

It takes a moment for Mike to react, but he does so gracefully. "Ah," he says, the smile slowly returning to his face. "A happy ending, after all?"

"You could say that."

"Congratulations, Evy. Sadie and I expect the lot of you over at our house for dinner within the week. Is that understood?"

God bless Mike. If only the rest of my friends could take such scandalous news so kindly. "We'd be delighted."

"All right, then." He hands me a folder filled with new acquisition papers. "Courtland Bembridge was promoted while you were away, you know. Dr. Kelland wants to see you in his office."

My heart sinks. Court Bembridge, the bane of every Egyptologist's existence at the British museum. If not for his family connections, I am quite sure the man would be in prison or dead. I can't believe he got _another_ promotion. I've been here three times as long as he has! "Thanks, Mike. Say hello to Sadie for me."

"Will do." Mike leaves me to deal with Dr. Kelland, who seems to have been blinded once again by the title of Bembridge. I make my way to his office, dreading the visit. What could he possibly want to see me about?

Evy would know. But she's been doing this for eight years. Alone, for Christ's sake. I shouldn't be complaining. I'm not complaining, I'm just...frustrated. What is it I'm supposed to do here? How long does this take to figure out? In another eight years, will I have learned some semblance of parenting? Is there some seal of approval or official document to be stamped that will say I have attained the status of good parent? 

I'm sitting in the kitchen mulling over my latest parenting mishap when Jonathan walks in. I think he spends more time here than he does at his own apartment. "Good evening," he says cheerily, clapping me on the back. "How's the day?"

I can't believe I'm going to ask Jonathan for advice, but here it goes. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." He sits across the table from me, opening the paper. "My sister driving you up a wall yet?"

"No."

"Give her time." He looks over the edge of the newspaper. "Is something wrong?"

"I yelled at Alex."

He doesn't react. "What'd he do?"

Okay, that's not the response I was expecting. "Well... He was throwing baseball in the house and broke that big tall vase in the foyer. Ramses the second, I believe."

Jonathan nods solemnly. "Punish him yet?"

"I sent him to his room. I wasn't sure what Evy would..."

"That'll be a month grounded, at least." Jonathan goes back to his paper. "Standard procedure for breaking precious artifacts. He should know better."

"Oh. Is it strange that I still feel bad for yelling at him?"

Jonathan laughs. "I can't imagine it would be any worse than getting chewed out by his mother. She can get pretty scary sometimes." He sets down the paper, the set of his eyes more serious. "Look, I know you're still feeling your way around this whole parenting thing. You did good. You just need to train up a bit, and you'll be an ace in no time."

"Do you want kids, Jonathan?"

He sighs, goes back to his paper. "The real question is, what woman on earth would want to have _my_ children? She'd have to be insane. I think I'll stick with the whole uncle thing."

"You're very good at that, you know."

"Get out of here." Jonathan waves the paper at me. "Before you embarrass me."

I leave the kitchen and head to Alex's room. He doesn't answer when I knock so I go in anyway. He's sitting on his bed, back to the door. "Go away," he says, pouting. "I don't want to talk to you."

"That's kind of too bad." I sit on the other side of the bed. "I want to talk to you."

"You can't tell me what to do."

"You're right, I can't. Not even your mother can."

He turns toward me, just a little bit. "Have you _met_ my mother?"

"It's a matter of whether you listen, Alex. It's a matter of whether you respect us enough. Everything we tell you is in your best interest."

"That doesn't mean I have to do what you say. We did fine without you before."

Ouch. "Are you sorry I'm here, then?"

He doesn't answer for a minute. I wish I could see his face. "Maybe."

Okay, Rick, pull out your magical parenting skills. It's all about the reverse psychology. "You know, I never really knew my parents. They died when I was eight."

He shifts just a little bit toward me. "Where did you grow up, then?"

"Orphanage."

"Sorry." I can see him thinking through this. "So I don't have any grandparents, then?"

"No. You would have liked them, though. My mom always used to have peppermints in her pocket, and she would always sing us to sleep." Strange, what one remembers after all this time. Why am I even talking about this?

"What was your dad like?"

"Well, he was very tall, I remember that. He smoked cigars, and he had a gray mustache."

"You know," says Alex, actually looking at me, "I'm glad you're not dead."

"Thanks. So am I."

"Are you going to tell Mum about the vase?"

"Don't you think she'd figure it out, anyway?"

He thinks about this for a minute. "Can I tell her? Before you do?"

"Yes. I think that would be very grown up of you."

We hear the front door slam, and I see Alex jump. "I should go tell her before she sees it."

"You better hurry, then, she's already inside."

Alex jumps off his bed and runs to receive news of his fate. I follow him, hear him begin his explanation/apology, but then he stops short. "Is something wrong, Mum?" he asks, and she doesn't answer.

I enter the foyer to see her leaned against the door, looking blankly at the floor space where the vase once stood. She sees me, and blinks.

"I got fired."

~*~*~*~

Reviews lift my spirits :):):)


	18. Habit

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do you feel the way you hate do you hate the way you feel always closest to the flame ever closer to the blade i am poison crazy lush built these hands to lift me up we are servants of our formulaic ways i'm screaming daisies from fourteen miles away i've got my own time got it all today make up your mind i need some help to find this mind limbo this and limbo that you were this and you were that ever know that what you fear is what you find

--"greedy fly" bush

Dr. Kelland fired me. He fired me to make room for that sniveling incompetent with a fancy last name. I've been working there (or, I should say, _worked_ there) for five years, and was let go without so much as a by-your-leave. I didn't go to school for seven years for this. I deserve better. 

Or at least, I thought so until this morning. Nothing can make one feel worse, it seems (besides maybe abandoning your true love) than being told one isn't good enough. Dr. Kelland said that to me, not in so many words. I don't even really remember what he said to me, it is merely a blur. All I know is that I am now jobless and directionless, my eyes are red and sore, my throat is raw, and my head pounds. I see that someone has placed a little tray on the nightstand, complete with juice, a muffin, and flowers. There's a little note, too. _Dear Mum_, it says, _I am very sorry that I broke the vase. I'll be grounded for as long as you want. Love, Alex. PS: I'm also sorry that you got fired. Your boss is stupid._

This makes me smile, though I wonder about the vase. What vase? What did he break? It strikes me how lovely it feels to think about something other than being sacked, but as soon as I think that I'm back to thinking about how awful it all is. Damn Dr. Kelland, and his damn Bembrige board. I'll have to get Rick to teach me some more colorful swear words so I can really let loose at them. 

As I sip at the juice (still with no intention of getting out of bed) my husband peeks around the doorframe of our room warily. "You're up," he says. "Can I come in?"

"Please." I just sort of crumple into Rick's arms, clutching him as though he were a rock in the middle of a stormy sea. 

"Do you want to talk about it?"

_No._ "What did Alex break?"

I can feel him laughing silently as he holds me. "Do you really want to know?"

"Probably not, but I might as well get all the bad news all at once."

"Uh, well, it was that big tall vase in the front hall. The one with the green dots."

"Oh."

Rick sighs. "Oh, honey..."

"What?"

"You _must_ be upset. We're talking Ramses II here."

"Of course I'm upset!" I can feel the fury that I've just barely suppressed bubbling again. "I just got fired, how do you think I am?"

"Sorry," he mutters, in a way I can tell he doesn't mean it. Even so, he begins to rub my shoulders, attempting to release the tension there. "I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"What? You aren't going to stay with me?"

He sighs. "Honey, I have to go to work. They're going to start wondering where I am; I haven't even stopped by yet."

I can't believe this. It occurs to me that perhaps I'm being a bit unreasonable, and then I decide I don't care. "You've been too busy to even stop by your office, and now when I really need you, you're going to work?"

"I've been busy _here_, Evy. I have to go eventually; I own the damn place."

"I just..." I can feel tears coming on again, and this is not what I want right now. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

"You'll figure something out, I know it."

"Well, I don't." I shrug away from his touch and move off the bed. I try to direct my rage at a more suitable subject and settle upon Dr. Kelland. "What am I supposed to do? I've done everything they asked of me and I haven't gotten anywhere. How am I supposed to get anywhere with my career if they won't let me? How am I supposed to support Alex and--" I cut myself off, realizing I haven't even thought about my new situation. "...Habit."

"You don't have to worry about that anymore," says Rick. "You can do whatever you want, Evy, anything. You can go on as many digs as you want. I'll build you your own museum, whatever."

I should be happy, shouldn't I? Why do I feel this indignation rising? Why can't I just let someone to take care of me for once? "I don't like to have things handed to me."

"I'm not..." I can see annoyance cross his face, too. "Look, Evy, you _have_ worked for this. Ten times as hard as any of those Bembridge bastards, I'm sure. You deserve to be able to follow your dreams."

"So I'll do it my own way. I'll do it myself. I'll work for it."

"_I_ worked for it," he says. "That means it's yours, too. Let's show those guys what you can really do."

"All it takes is money, then?" I ask. "You're saying if I had your money from the beginning I'd be running the board by now?"

"Jesus, Evy, I'm saying you don't have to go through them anymore. You have the freedom to go out and do all those things they wouldn't let you do before."

"With your money. It feels like charity. It feels like the easy way out."

"Fine, then." He stands, all vestiges of patience gone now. "I suppose we'll forego the house and the yard, then, too, seeing as how it would seem like charity. Hell, why don't I just throw away everything I've worked for? We'll live _here_ for the rest of our lives. The dog doesn't need a yard, and hey, if Alex ever has siblings, they can all share his room. We can sell my car, too, walk around London barefoot. You can stay unemployed, and I'll sit in bars and tell war stories. Sounds like a hell of a life to me."

He walks out then, and I am overwhelmed by how stupid I am, how stupid everything I said, everything he said, how dreadfully silly this whole conversation was. I'm so tired, I can barely even stand, and somehow I've managed to heap even more gloom upon us. What the hell were we even fighting about? What is wrong with me? 

To borrow a phrase from Rick....

Shit.

When I get there (with only one driving-in-the-right-lane incident) I sit in the car for a while, contemplating. I'm not one for contemplating, but I can't seem to muster the strength to go into the building. It's three stories, stone, trimmed with bright blue. The only familiar thing about it is the sign above the double doors, the Jamilah Shipping logo. I designed the original one years ago, but the current logo is courtesy of Sherrie, who is somewhat more artistic. She, and others, suggested changing the name of the company as well, but I wouldn't have it...

Sigh. Amazing how I can twist my thoughts back around to Evy no matter the subject. 

I get out of the car and head inside, nervous despite myself. I've never met any of these people, and now I have to go order them around. I don't plan on being there full-time anyway; there's a man named James Boyne who runs the branch. I've been told he's competent, and there's never been any problems in this office that I've heard of. 

The secretary in the front lobby smiles brightly at me when I enter. "Good day sir, welcome to Jamilah Shipping, how can I help you?"

"Hi. My name is Rick O'Connell, I believe you're expecting me."

Her smiles stays on (the duration of the grin beginning to look a little fake around the edges) and consults her schedule. "No, sir, I don't have you down. Who were you supposed to be seeing?"

"Err, nobody. I'm the owner. Could you just direct me to James Boyne's office?"

She reapplies her courtesy smile and waves a hand toward the line of chairs on the wall. "Someone will be up momentarily to speak with you." 

I take a seat and she returns to whatever it was she was doing before I interrupted her day. I've never been here; I can't expect every secretary to know my name, let alone my face. Never had much inclination to visit London, so it's no wonder. The secretary offers me some coffee and another fake smile. 

Almost ten minutes pass before a man in a dark blue suit comes strides calmly out of the inner offices. "Mr. O'Connell," he says solemnly, and shakes my hand. "James Boyne. Such an honor to meet you at last." 

"Great to meet you. I hear you've done some job with this place."

He shrugs humbly and directs me out of the lobby. "We get along okay. I think you'll be pleased with some of the changes we've made in the past year. You'll want to meet the staff, of course, and the board........."

The next few hours blur together. Combine Boyne's endless blathering with endless meetings and introductions and explanations, and I've never been happier to get out of a building. They do a great job of running this branch, and clearly they don't need me all that much. 

I can think of somewhere else where they do. I can't wait to get home. 

*~*~*~*

Sorry it's been so long. :):):)


	19. Variations on a Theme

Somehow I keep coming up with ideas for this one. Thanks for sticking with me, I appreciate y'all:)

__

i hate to talk like this i hate to act as if something's wrong that i can't say i have this dream at night almost every night i've been dreaming it forever it's easy to remember it's always cold it's always day you're always here you always say i'm all right i'll be okay if i can keep myself awake 'cause when i'm sleeping so deep and it's so much more real to me closer to reality

--"keep myself awake" black lab

The doorbell rings around lunchtime, forcing me to climb out of bed and my wallowing-in-self-pity-fest. At the door stands a delivery man with a clipboard and seventeen large brown boxes--Rick's things from Boston. The delivery man takes one trip after the other, finding interesting ways to cram the seventeen boxes in the tiny living room. With all the boxes stacked in here there's nowhere to sit anymore, and only a single path through the room to the rest of the house. Rick was right. This place is way too small. 

I wonder if Rick fit everything in his life into these seventeen boxes--is there more? He had the big stuff, like furniture, put in storage. Of course, he didn't pack any of this, the moving men did. We'll have to unpack everything just to find out what's in them. I wonder if he was serious about getting a house, with a yard. I really do want a house, not just because this apartment is too small for three people, even without a dog. It's never something I thought about before, but I like the idea of a happy little family living in a happy little house. Jon and I grew up in a big house a few miles from here, and every memory I have of that house is a wonderful one. 

The temptation to open the boxes is too much. Besides, I have nothing else to do. I plop one on the ground and slit open the top. Inside all I can see is thin, neatly wrapped parcels. I unwrap one and find a diploma. Rick's business degree, in 1928. The next one is a plaque, congratulating Jamilah Shipping for excellence in service, from the Boston Business Bureau. After that there are a few framed photographs--Robbie, Rick and a few others sitting at a picnic table, a blurred portrait of Addison as a puppy. 

The most interesting one is a really old photo of a group of people dressed in evening wear. Tucked in the corner is a wallet-sized photo of a man and a woman who I can spot in the group shot, too. You can tell by her hair and the clothes that this photo was taken thirty, maybe forty years ago. They're both beaming and looking at each other, rather than the camera. I carefully pull the little one out of the frame and look at the scrawled writing on the back. 

_January 8, 1890. Liam and Cecily's engagement party._

Liam and Cecily... Rick's parents. Robbie and his ailing father are pretty much the only family he has now, excepting more distant cousins. Robbie must have given this picture to him. The next few, too--a family portrait, of three children. A girl of fourteen or fifteen --Cate, it must be--with two little boys on her lap. The youngest one, David, has dark hair and an mischievous expression on his face. His brother is blond and blue-eyed, and looks suspiciously like another little boy I know. 

There's more, of people I don't recognize, although I can identify Robbie in one and Rick and his siblings in a few more. It's the kind of trip down a tragic memory lane that makes me want to give Rick a hug. What happened to all these people? By the looks of these pictures he had such a large family. Reduced now to an O'Connell and a couple of Gardners, again separated by thousands of miles of ocean. 

For the first time it occurs to me that the family is getting larger. Alex and me, we're O'Connells now. 

I wish Rick would get home. 

The nightmare is always the same. It's always unbearably bright at first, and it takes a few moments of panicky blindness for my eyes to adjust. But by then the light has faded and I'm back in that chamber, that sandstone representation of Hell buried deep under Hamunaptra. I can't move, stuck in a terrible nightmare state of molasses, while time surrounding me moves at lightning speed. My wife lies on the sacrificial slab at the head of room, pleading for help, and I can't move. It's always come when I'm stressed about something. Is it any surprise that since she came back into my life, the dream comes more often and more intensely? It's different lately, since the Oasis--somehow there's another layer floating underneath now, something ancient that I can't begin to grasp--but basically it's still the same. For nearly nine years I have had this dream, and the outcome is always the same. She dies every time, and there's never anything I can do about it. 

I can't sleep (I never can, after the dream, and the couch is not exactly comfortable anyway) so I've gone to the kitchen. Of their own volition my hands have assembled a grilled cheese and pickle sandwich with the crusts cut off, just for something to do. Evy made this for me once, years and years ago, when we both couldn't sleep. She said her mother used to make it for them, when she and Jonathan were kids. 

"You remember," she says from the kitchen doorway. She looks tired, her hair is half-pulled back in a frizzy mess and the tie of her robe is coming apart. She's beautiful. 

"I remember everything," I reply. "I remember the kitchen had blue tile. It was really windy but the shutters were broken. We kept dropping things on the floor."

She comes one step into the kitchen. "We never ate it, did we?" 

"We fed it to a stray cat."

She laughs. "I'd forgotten that." She takes another step. "Couldn't sleep, either?"

I shake my head. "Too many dreams."

"Bad ones?"

"Just the one, actually."

She stands beside me now, and we stare at the sandwich. "Split it?" I offer, and she nods and gets another plate. The sandwich is split in two now, but neither of us touches it.

"What's it about?" she asks. 

It doesn't occur to me not to tell her, though I pause while I wonder how to put it. "The past. Things that never happened."

I know she smiles, though I'm not looking at her face. "We of all people should know not to trust in the incredulity of dreams."

"No, this happened, it just... In my dreams it goes in the worst possible way. We wouldn't be standing in this kitchen if it had gone that way."

She doesn't say anything for a minute, and when she does her voice has an edge to it, a tiny, frightened pitch that I rarely hear from her. I know she understands what I am saying, even if I haven't outlined my nightmares directly. "I have dreams like that sometimes. Lucky I've got you, though, because I am standing here. We both are. I've lost you enough times, I can't...I can't..." She bites back her tears, but only just. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm just so...exhausted, and I can't..." 

My arms of their own volition wrap around her, and I suddenly realize how tired I am, too, as if we are holding each other up from the brink of collapse. "I'm so tired," she repeats, her words muffled into my shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," I echo. "I'm sorry."

"I don't have nightmares when you're there." She wipes at her eyes, sniffling. "I used to dream all the time, about... you know. Variations on a theme."

"Me too. Just let me protect you. Let me take care of you."

She looks at me and I can't stand that I still see tears in her eyes. "Let's take care of each other."

"Okay."

"I'm sorry I said what I said, earlier. I didn't mean it. I was upset about other things, and I just sort of...transferred it onto everything else. Including you."

"I know."

She puts on her brave face, tears vanquished. "So. How was work?"

"Terrible. You are very distracting."

"As are you; I didn't get anything done today." She thinks about this, then changes her mind. "Kind of nice for a change, actually."

"Just think of it as a vacation. Write a book, or something."

She looks a little surprised. "I did."

"You wrote a book today?"

"No." Now she looks embarrassed. "Over the past few years. I wrote two."

My jaw nearly drops. "How did I not know this? Are they published?"

"Um...yes. I'm sorry! I can't believe I didn't tell you!" She laughs. "Learn something new every day, I suppose."

"What are they about?"

She grins, that sparkle that only academia can induce returning to her voice. "One is a compilation of ancient curses, that one came out just last year, and the other one is about Nekhbet." Her smile falters slightly. "She's the, um, guardian of mothers and childbirth. I did a lot of research on her when I was...you know...pregnant."

Not for the first time I'm not sure how to respond. What comes out is not what I planned to say. "Do you want more kids?"

She takes a moment to consider this, but I can see the real answer immediately in her eyes. "Maybe," she says carefully, as if afraid I might be offended. "Someday, maybe. Someday."

"Tell me yes."

"Why?"

"Because that's what I see in your eyes."

She still looks uncertain. "What about you?"

My wife is too easy to tease. "Maybe," I say, mimicking her. "Someday, maybe. Someday." She looks as if she's about to smack me, so I give her my real answer. "Yes."

I can see the smile spreading across her face this time. It's one of joy, and I can't help but feel the same thing in my own heart. "Well, we've got our first married couple fight over with. That's something we can check off the list."

"I guess we've got a few things to do before we have more kids. Here's an idea: let's go house-hunting this weekend. The moving boxes don't even fit in this place."

"Sounds good. But...why don't we talk about all this in the morning."

"What did you have in mind for tonight, then?"

"What do you say we finish making up?"

"I like the way you think."

~*~*~*~


End file.
